Everyday Rebel

This Moment

2010-10-22T13:57:00.000-07:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual from Soule Mama, one of my favorite bloggers. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Wishing everyone a lovely weekend!

Wordless Wednesday

2010-10-13T16:37:00.000-07:00

Don't count on this as a regular thing. I don't even blog enough as a regular thing.

Wordless (or not so wordless but less wordy) Wednesday brought to you by Park School and the Tulgey Wood Gang with all but the last taken with the Hipstamatic App on my iPhone.

On to lighter topics... The Rebel Bakes

2010-09-22T22:03:00.000-07:00

My recent view at the computer.

I made pretzels last week.

Lately I've been wondering what makes me an "everyday rebel" particularly when I'm posting pics of knitting and sewing like I'm some kind of Martha Stewart. Which, I'm not. Actually, I think Martha Stewart is an evil minion of Satan sent to earth to make everyone else feel inadequate in all things domestic. I don't let it get to me though, I'm the queen of the dirty house dinner party. In fact, it is possible that if you end up at my house for a dinner party, you'll find yourself cooking. Or maybe folding laundry so you have some place to sit. Or clearing the table so we can eat on it. But just when I was thinking I was at least trying to become Mrs. Steward, I go and make that last post.

Right. I remember now. One second I'm making pretzels and the next I'm writing about controversial birth topics. And you didn't even hear what I was talking about while I was making the bread. Ah yes, that's right, I do have rebel moments.

I'm working on being content. Not just with stuff but with circumstances. And with who I am. I've long held the belief that if you kind of don't like your circumstances you should learn to be content. If you really don't like them then get off your butt and change them. Reality has served me up a double portion of "It-ain't-always-so-simple" and had me reevaluating. Meaning: If you really don't like your circumstances sometimes you just have to suck it up. Or the nicer way of saying it: develop more contentment. So I've decided I'm discontent with my level of contentment. I'm working on that.

Homemaker is a difficult term for me. It sends shivers down my spine and I feel as though someone has died. I avoid it. I also avoid baking. Not because of shivers up or down my spine but because I'm terrible at it. Did you know that baking is really more science than anything? Chemistry to be exact. This fact explains everything. It's really not the science as much as the directions but science, particularly the chemistry variety, likes directions. I read ingredient lists as suggestions and measurements and directions as a road map: this is one way to get there but there is this other way here and another way here... and maybe we don't really want to go there anyway. But science isn't really about suggestions, not if you don't want to blow things up. Did I mention I was terrible at baking? Jeremy is good at baking. Like, talented, even more so if it involves chocolate. It's kind of disgusting. Disgustingly yummy and his time in the "lab" is making me fat. But I digress.

This last week, I didn't avoid baking. Nope, I rushed in and embraced it head on tackling baked goods that were even lacking in chocolate and, in an atypical but noteworthy event, required following directions! *gasp*

Also noteworthy: they didn't come out of a box.

You have no idea how hard this is for me, the following directions part that is. The box part too for that matter. But I did it and started with a recipe a friend on Facebook shared for soft pretzels. I am never paying $3 for a pretzel at the mall again. I can't believe I'm going to say this but not only were they edible, they were delicious! And yes, I realize I'm bragging but I don't care. I made something yummy that was baked. You bet I'm going to get braggy about it. Oh yeah, and Evangeline helped.

I'm really hoping the whole "you're going to get worms if you eat raw flour" thing I used to hear as a kid isn't true because seriously, Evangeline ate cups of the stuff.

This past week we made multiple French country boule loves, two baguettes which were better than any we've found in stores here, dinner rolls, whole wheat sandwich buns, walnut sticky buns, whole wheat country loaf, savory kolaches, flatbreads, homemade pizza and the soft pretzels. They were all delicious, actually. I couldn't believe it this morning when I looked at my plate for breakfast with an omlet and whole wheat toast and thought "wow, I made all that." The ingredients may have come from the store or farmer's market but the actual cooking and baking was all mine. MINE! Even the bread.

And here's the kicker: it tastes delicious and I have enjoyed the experience.

Move over Martha Stewart! My bread is awesome and piles of laundry is the new shabby chic!

I will continue making bread. The secret? I found out making bread doesn't have to be difficult! Thanks to the recipe I'm following I can see myself making fresh dough to bake into various breads every other day. Courtesy of my neighbor, I'm exploring the recipes in Artisan Bread In Five Minutes a Day and getting inspiration from their wonderful website and blog. This book has quickly moved to the top of my wish list, I'm going to have to return it to my neighbor eventually and I am so going to need my own. Every time I make a batch I am surprised at how easy it is and how fast I'm done.

School snacks ready to be packed up.

I felt all kinds of Little House on The Prairie sending the girls off to their little homeschool classes last week with a snack of homemade bread or pretzels wrapped in red gingham sandwich wraps, fresh canteloupe in Mason Jars, their steel water bottles and a sweet little cloth napkin tucked inside. Holy crap, I need to write something controversial again quick!

Birth Rape or a Negative Birth Experience?

2010-09-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

I've been planning blog posts all week but I've been so busy living life I haven't had the time to write about it. Too bad too because there is some great stuff too. We've been baking, schooling, playing, crafting, sewing, knitting, cooking, dancing, meeting and of course, drinking coffee. I have even made bread. There will be a post about that, there HAS to be a post about that.

But instead of a post on golden crust and French style homemade bread I find myself with much heavier topics on my mind.

I haven't written about birth much and haven't actually attended one since last December and I was the birthing woman. This feels strange but also right at this time. Still a birth junkie though, I've been reading as usual and today I read this article on the Parenting blog. Melanie, the author, addresses the use of the fairly new term "birth rape" when discussing bad birth experiences. She shares with her readers some of the details of her first birth, a negative experience in a hospital and then why she feels that, though it was a negative experience that led to her choosing a home birth the next go-round, the term "birth rape" is not an appropriate label. The crux of her argument is that the doctor and hospital staff at her birth were not set out to intentionally harm her.

I want to agree with her, really I do. Maybe it is true most of the time that a bad birth experience is just that, a bad birth experience. But there are times when I feel "rape" is an appropriate term. And I say that as a rape survivor.

Merriam-Webster defines rape as:

1 a (archaic): to seize and take away by force b : despoil

2: to commit rape on

1: an act or instance of robbing or despoiling or carrying away a person by force

2: unlawful sexual activity and usually sexual intercourse carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female or with a person who is beneath a certain age or incapable of valid consent — compare sexual assault, statutory rape

3: an outrageous violation

To seize and take away by force
I feel I experienced birth rape once and have witnessed it twice. I was told "if you had just gotten the epidural and delivered your placenta better then I wouldn't have to do this to you" when my OB was manually performing a DNC without any pain relief to remove the retained placenta fragments after she pulled on the cord because (and these were her words) "she was so tired and ready to be done with this already." I had been told more than once that it was the end of her shift. She entered my body 3 times that I remember, telling me to be still and I would thank her later. The way she spoke to me as she forced her arm up to her elbow inside me through my freshly torn vagina and bruised cervix while she scraped the inside of my uterus and searched for the fragments and how she had my legs restrained by nurses triggered flashbacks of my rape that haunted me for 2 years. I passed out from the pain and when I came to later I was told it was my fault, that I wanted a natural birth and "well, was it worth it?" When I became more educated years later and read through my own chart I understood what happened and I know the risk of a retained placenta and immediate postparum hemorrhage but I also know that the attitude with which it was done and the blame being placed on me was all too similar to what my sexual abuser did as well. Perhaps her intent wasn't to harm me but, like a sexual predator, her actions demonstrated that she was primarily thinking about getting what she wanted.

Despoiling, to commit rape on
The 2 times I saw what I feel was birth rape included a home birth transfer and I heard the on-call doctor tell the mother "everyone would be so much nicer if you had come here in the first place. This is what you get for being stupid enough to try a home birth" and then he cut her a 4th degree episiotomy that was completely unnecessary for the 3rd time mom birthing a 6 pounder.

Unlawful sexual activity... carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female
I have several Labor and Delivery nurse friends that tell stories. There is a OB in town that has a horrible reputation among the nurses at the hospital where he does deliveries because of his poor treatment of patients. Poor doesn't even begin to describe it. One story my friend tells is of a young woman, a teen mom having her first baby. She was afraid and refused a second vaginal exam (smart girl, in my book) because of the pain from the first one. This doctor sat there between her legs and bellowed at her that he was in charge and she was just a little slut that needed to open her legs and let him do what he needed to do. She whimpered and obeyed. He hurt her again in that exam and told her she was no good at birth and he'd probably have to cut her open to get her baby out. Yes, those are the words my friend says he used. The nurses finally stood up to him and threatened to report him if he didn't change his treatment of this patient.

An outrageous violation
The other birth rape experience I witnessed was by a midwife in a birth center and was even more traumatic than the first with the midwife saying "you really want me to do this, you'll be thanking me later so stop being such a whimp" as she repeatedly tried to manually dilate a posterior, slow progressing, hard cervix despite the laboring woman begging her to stop and to get out of her. All my interventions to protect my client were ignored and her actions didn't stop until the 3rd time when I told the husband that he needed to tell the midwife to remove her hands from his wife and explain what she was doing. When she did I physically put myself between my client and the midwife until we had her word that she would not do another cervical exam without the express and clear permission from the mother. That birth was one of the most horrible I have ever seen and even included a light smack on the rear of the birthing mother on hands and knees when she tried to move away from the pain the midwife was causing her. In any other situation there would be no question that language of assault would be appropriate in describing the events that took place, just because it is birth and these people are supposed to be helping does not give them license to exert dominating control over a woman's body against her will. When I left the home of that couple after getting them settled back home several hours later I sat in my car and bawled. What I had witnessed wasn't just a series of unfortunate events or even unnecessary interventions but a vile form of abuse under the guise of assisting someone in the midst of an extremely and intensely vulnerable time. I won't even go into the desperate feelings of guilt and failure as a doula that hounded me in seeing my client abused and me feeling powerless to stop it.

I understand the writers point. Not every case of an undesired intervention equal birth rape. However, there are some where the attitude is clearly not just "this is what we do to get a healthy baby" but rather one of punitive power masquerading as care. Birth rape is a strong and unsettling term and rightly it should be. It should not be used lightly but it should not be ignored. If we tell women that they cannot describe their experience with language that points to assault we put more barriers in the way of their healing and for those suffering from PTSD as a result of their birth experiences we make it even more challenging for them to find the help they need. We need to be careful that we do not dismiss these traumatic experiences and that we encourage women to use the terminology they need to accurately express what happened to them. I don't want an us vs. them attitude between doctors and women or doctors and the natural birth community but not all health care birth professionals are as benevolent as we would like to believe. There are many wonderful and talented doctors, nurses and midwives I have been privileged to work with and know. Far more truly caring ones than not and most of them love what they do and recognize the honor they have in attending birthing women. I am grateful for this. The small handful that have made me sit in my car and sob are greatly outnumbered. But they are there and they are hurting women and families, traumatizing them by looking out for themselves, their needs and wants over those of the very people they are serving. That is how rape happens, when a position of power is abused to control someone to proceed in an action by violating their body through force against their will.

Melanie may not feel that her personal negative birth experience wasn't birth rape and it sounds as though she has found healing through her second birth and that's wonderful. For me and some other women "negative birth experience" just isn't the right terminology for what we went through. Birth rape feels closer. It may make us uncomfortable but that's exactly what it should do.

What do you think? Is Birth Rape too strong of language for birth related abuse? What would be some other terms we could use instead? Do you feel it is fitting?

Summer, parting is such sweet sorrow

2010-09-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

Exploring some math concepts together with The Piano Man from my perspective at the sewing machine.

"School" has started. Our relaxed version of schooling that includes freedom, structure, cultivating individual interests and curiosity, self-pacing, exploration, and exposure to ideas and subjects is under-way as the seasons shift. Not that it ever stopped, we just explored other subjects with a different level of freedom and self-guidance. We are once again participating in 2 different local university style classical education programs for homeschoolers. The classes the girls are taking this year are once again exciting and of their own choosing. Earth Baby is taking Greek 3, Latin 2, Jr. High Spanish, Writing and Literature 7/8 (it's actually high school level, and she loves it!), high school drama, advanced drawing, and another art class. The Storyteller is enjoying a writing class, Spanish, drama, zoology- swimming creatures, art, Latin 1, and Ancient Roman and Greek architecture. Lolie is taking a math games class and she wanted to take a reading class I think mostly to have fun discovering new books. She is also taking drama and Spanish as well as an etiquette lunch to learn how to eat a meal with polite manners. Good thing I guess, she won't get that here! All of them love the 2 days a week managing their own schedules and visiting with friends. Squiggle Bug and I love our time together to do things like make playdough, scones, dance to whatever music we want, build elaborate castles of blocks or whatever strikes our fancy, play with baby dolls, go for long walks and swinging. We like to pretend it is fall and made up a song this week about the leaves crunching under our shoes as we walked and the vibrant colors of the season. We can dream, right?

Squiggle Bug enjoys a hot walk in September doing our new favorite family activity- geocaching!

My sewing machine is whirring, the knitting needles are clicking, books and patterns being marked for ideas, yarn being fingered, etsy and craigslist being perused for more ideas and maybe a few deals, dress-up themes being discussed for October 31st, whispered conversations abruptly halted when another family member walks into the room, secret measuring and knowing giggles with side-ways glances echo off the walls of our home. But the ultimate tell-tale sign of the seasons shifting has been the Christmas music books making their way to the piano as we select what we want to work on this year. I am constantly humming the favorites I want to arrange for us to sing this year and will set about determining keys and parts soon so we have ample time to learn them comfortably.

I refuse to think about the fact that if we are turning our attention forward to Halloween and then Christmas it means that Smunchie is closing in on her first birthday as well. Nope, impossible, she's still a newborn, right?

Though the weather has cooled off a touch with a hurricane that made landfall only 150 miles away, we don't actually expect real change to the weather until well into November at the earliest. A fact we take into consideration when planning our Halloween costumes. Still, it feels as though we have begun to bid summer adieu and from this point out and shorts and t-shirt days will be mere stragglers of an Indian Summer. We pretend that you can't actually wear shorts and t-shirts all year here. I sit here and right this in a tank top and summer skirt. Same outfit I'll probably be wearing at some point in December.

For years we have been listening to the 3 big girls beg to visit a waterpark but the hot temperatures, fair skin, and high cost made us balk at the idea. Thanks to some friends passing along some free-tickets, we were able to have one last horrah this summer by enjoying a day along a chlorinated lazy river, 3-story swirling tube slides, jumping fountains, fabricated showers, artificial wave pool, water obstacle courses and more. The weather had cooled off nicely with only a high around 91 degrees and even for our not-so-summer-fun-loving selves we had a good time. Sunburns were avoided, dehydration kept at bay and we enjoyed our buddy system for the day. Smunchie still hates water so she was less than thrilled but was mostly content to ride along in the lazy river as long as she wasn't getting wet and was able to breastfeed at the same time. It worked. As long as I didn't think about the SouthPark episode with Pi Pi's New York Splash Waterpark too much. *shudder*

I wasn't able to get too many photos, I was far too busy enjoying the waterpark experience but snapped a few of Smunchie staying dry on the beach.

Saving dishes

2010-08-31T02:31:00.000-07:00

I'm not a fan of dishes. Well, that's not true, I like dishes and all different types too, stoneware, glass, ceramics, china, and whatever else there is. What I should say is I don't like washing dishes. I suppose a dishwasher is supposed to make that chore easier but I'm not sure ours really does that. With the exception of most liquids in a cup or glass, we pretty much have to wash each dish before putting it in the dishwasher because it's not like the machine actually gets food off anything. Which makes me wonder, what's the point? I imagine we could use the cabinet space more than the appliance.

But since I also don't like waste and I have some crunchy tendencies, not to mention the prohibitive cost comparisons, we don't use disposable dishes either. Shoot, we don't even use disposable paper towels or napkins. So I wash dishes. Thankfully, I have helpers.

The Storyteller joyfully does the dishes. Can't you tell? That's joy all over her face.

These helpers help a lot, they know how to load and unload the dishwasher, scrape the plates, wipe down the counters, and put away the silver ware. And they have a magic talent. They know how to make the dishes, specifically glasses, multiply. Hot from playing outside, get a clean glass and a cold drink of water! Enjoying a captivating read? Keep a fresh glass of water close by. Can't sleep? Grab another glass and fill 'er up! Even more sweaty? Yep, more water! Can't find your glass from 5 minutes ago? That's ok, grab another one and drink up! And if you had something other than water in your glass you certainly don't want to rinse it out and re-use the glass that would be gross! So, GET ANOTHER GLASS! Yay!

Not yay.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love that the girls can chug some water and stay well hydrated, really, I do. I'm thrilled that I generally don't have to worry about their fluid intake on any given day. But I can't say that I appreciate being able to count how many glasses of water they'd had before noon just by the number of glasses cluttering up the counter. Particularly the ones that were full with only a few sips of water missing. Though I watered plenty of plants by pouring the contents of abandoned glasses into their pots, I was in desperate need of a solution. And I really didn't like having to wash all those glasses so many times in an effort to have glasses on the shelf.

We tried tape on the counter tops with names so you could get a drink and put your glass back right in front of your name. I attempted to enforce that for 2 weeks but failed miserably. Then it was designated spots, The Piano Man always keeps a glass by the sink so he can fill it up with water and just knows to set it there when he's done so it is ready for the next time. Important fact to keep in mind as to why this works for him and not for his children: He's 20-something years older than the oldest child in the family. That and I'm their mom, my DNA is in the mix too and I have a hard time remembering where I put my purse. The next effort in having the girls use the same glass all day was to label the glasses but the labels got lost, wet, removed, whatever, the point is that didn't work either.

Our glasses and the glass markers.

Finally I decided to try personalized glasses but I wasn't about to order glasses with their names etched on them. Instead, I pulled out the plain glasses we had from IKEA and picked up a set of glass paint markers. For a few days we talked about the idea of creating a custom glass, each of us designing and decorating a glass in our own unique style and the girls got excited. Thinking it was going to be quite the time consuming production, I procrastinated a few days until Lolie couldn't stand the anticipation of creating her very own glass and pestered me to no end. However much work it would be it was worth doing to get her to stop. I shouldn't have worried. The glass paint markers were simple and easy to use once we got the paint flowing into the tip of each marker. I helped the girls get going with theirs and figuring out some of the tricky maneuvering required for some of their designs. The Piano Man joined us and it wasn't long before we had 10 distinctly different glasses full of color, whimsy, energy, individuality and character. Setting all the glasses on a tray to put in the oven to bake the paint I was delighted with our mis-matched matching family glasses.

9 of our set of 10.

We have rainbows, flowers, butterflies, birds, stripes, swirls and polka-dots, hearts, a colorful henna-tattoo inspired glass, our family initials, and people jumping from mountain top to mountain top (I admit, I scratched my head at that one) decorating our glasses and "set" is proudly displayed on a shelf between the kitchen and dinning room. The light shines through them in a colorful display creating our own small stained glass collection. The most amazing thing though is that they are usually at least a few on the shelf at all times with the exception of those that are in use at any given moment.

It was really simple, wash the glasses, prep the surface by wiping them down with vinegar, shaking the paint down to the tips of the markers and getting creative. After they were painted they had to sit for 24 hours to dry and then bake for 40 minutes at 325 degrees. Each of us enjoyed seeing not only our own glasses come to life with color but what everyone else was doing as well. My original plan was to have us each create a cup for ourselves and one for guests and everyone in the family would use their personalized glass. However, we all enjoy the other glasses so much that every morning we pick a new glass. Today I have the purple people jumping on green mountains. A fun family project that has miraculously cut down on the amount of dishes.

No More the Training Pants! It's time for big girl panties?

2010-07-23T17:40:00.000-07:00

Squiggle Bug learned to use the potty a few months ago and she's pretty much a pro now. It's great, sudden hollering of "my poopoo coming! I go potty!" echo through out our little house on a regular basis followed shortly by "I did it!" and "Bye bye my poopoo! Bye bye my peepee!"

So with regular success of bye-bye peepee and bye-bye poopoo, it was time to get Squiggle Bug some new undergarments. Panties. Deciding to couple the Target shopping expedition with family time, we first went to see Toy Story 3. I've waited a long time for this movie and was more excited than the girls. Cute flick, we all enjoyed it including 2 year old Squiggle Bug. After crying through Toy Story 3, we headed with a grumpy, napless Squiggle Bug and the rest of the crew to go buy the new panties. Buying new panties is an exciting time. No more the training pants and stretched out undies from big sisters, it's time to pick out your very own panties! The general rule regarding trademarked characters on clothing in our home is lifted and any panties with any character are permitted. Even if they have no idea who Dora is.

I fully expected princesses or fairies. She doesn't know who the characters are really but she knows a princesses is anyone in a pretty outfit. She really likes princesses. We found our way to the baby section with toddler panties and found the smallest size. In a regrettable move I picked out some Tinker Bell and Friends panties and showed Squiggle Bug. One look and she was screaming no and hitting the package in my hands. Shocked but a little bit pleased I hung the offending package of panties back up. Not having learned our lesson, The Piano Man presented her with a set of the Micky Mouse Princesses and received the same reaction. Over and over she stomped around saying "I want MY panties!" Bewildered, we attempted to show her other potential selections, each received with a similar reaction.

I was determined to throw something in the cart, anything. Plain white panties weren't easy to find but I wasn't going home empty handed. Between the 5 of us there that had any hope of understanding what it was she wanted, none of us actually knew. Loitering in the toddler underwear aisle for a while was starting to feel awkward when I spotted a set of Toy Story undies. Thinking she would calm down upon recognizing the characters we just saw in the movie I showed Squiggles. It worked. She calmed down. Well, actually, she did an immediate 180, squealing and jumping up and down. Snatching the package out of my hands she squeaked "my Buzz! My Woody! My Panties!"

I looked at The Piano Man over our now enthusiastic 2 year old and tried to ignore the giggles and shocked whispers of her big sisters. He shrugged. "Boy underwear!" The Storyteller giggled uncontrollably.

And so it came to be that I bought my first package of little boy underwear. Reluctant to hand her package of undies over to the check out girl, Squiggles had to be comforted for the few seconds while it was scanned before gripping it tightly to her chest for the rest of the way to the van. As soon as we got home she wanted them on. Her favorite pair are the lime green ones with both Woody and Buzz on the butt. Modeling them for me, she got concerned when she couldn't find her new friends until twisting to look at her rear-end and then beamed up at me "There's my Woody! There's my Buzz!"

At 2 Squiggle Bug has figured out the secret I only learned a few years ago: boy undies are way more comfortable than girl panties. Screw the princesses, cowboys and spacemen rock for girls too.

Pressing Memories

2010-07-22T06:19:00.000-07:00

I finished singing the "last" song and told her it was time to go to sleep. We both laid down, her face just inches from mine with her Raffie, she tossed her delicate legs over mine and gave me a sleepy smile. For a moment we just looked at each other with sleepy smiles. Just as I was lifting my hand to stroke the hair out of her face and trace light circles across her nose and around her eyes, Squiggle Bug settled her hand on my face and said around the Raffie ear in her mouth "I love you mommy." Finger the sunshine strands on her forehead in the dim light, I smiled and whispered that I loved her too. My chest constricted and tears stung my eyes as she began to caress my face just like I do hers every night. Laying there caressing each others face I told myself to press this moment into my memory like a flower between the pages of a book to be discovered later as a sweet, faded surprise. I worried I would forget anyway. Then my mind scrambled to find other memories hidden in it's pages; first giggles, how she smelled the first time I held her, a small arm clutching my neck, cuddles in the early morning, blue eyes gazing intently into mine as I held her while she nursed. Beautiful memories but already so faded.

Her hand dropped, too drowsy to continue fingering my face and peeking through slits in her eyelids she asked me to sing again. I obliged, holding on to this moment for as long as I could. Would she? Would she remember those dusty memories? With so many more memories and knowledge coming to fill the pages of her mind, I doubted it. I reflected on my own memories as a child, realizing that the earliest one I had of even going to bed as a child was when I was at least 7 or 8, certainly not 2. Peering through the clouded lens of so many years I remember sitting next to my mom in a nightgown on the couch in my family room, the blue couch with flowers, and my brother and sister and dad there as well. Dad was playing the guitar and we had been singing. He launched into "Goodnight Ladies" replacing ladies with the names of my siblings and me, one at a time. To the tune of our names we circled the room giving hugs and goodnight kisses before dancing off to bed. I don't think my older brother cared for that part much but he awkwardly participated. In bed I listened to the end of the song for my brother and then my dad sang another song and I sang along softly. There are details missing, details like the ones I was trying to grasp to hold forever from this moment putting my own daughter to bed. No, she probably wouldn't remember.

So I'll have to tell her. Over and over again, describe how she smelled, her sweet sleepy voice requesting yet another song, her soft hand stroking my cheek as she tells me she loves me, the favorite cookie pajamas keeping her warm and snuggly, and the way her hair lays across her forehead in the gentle glow from the nightlight. And to press it in my memory I'll write it down in her journal. I know that many of the memories I have from my childhood are because of the spiral bound journal scrapbooks my mom would squeeze out time at 2am to fill for me, recording her perspective of the mundane and exciting moments of my childhood.

This weekend I'm going to go through one of those notebooks and share those musty memories with my own children. Then I'll record those precious details that slip away and press them into my memory to share with them again one day. I will continue the tradition of preserving memories in the written word to share one day with my children as my mom did for me. There may be long blocks of time between those moments but I will press every moment I can.

When the Dam Breaks

2010-04-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

Today I am honored to share the story of a friend, a rape survivor in a constant battle with RR-PTSD. To help raise awareness of Sexual assault and sexual abuse I am featuring posts dealing with this sensitive subject for Sexual Assault Awareness Month in April. Lora's on-going story is one that highlights the particular struggles of the aftermath of sexual assault. I hope you, like I was, are touched by the promise of hope and healing already taking place and are still challenged to raise your voice and hearts for the survivors of sexual abuse.

Most people I know who have had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) have been soldiers or survived some natural disaster. They are encouraged, lauded as survivors who need our help. Some are even put up as super-human to even carry on in a daily routine. However there are hidden PTSD suffers who are pushed to the side. They do not have the supporters who are willing to put their name to the disease as easily as the others. These are Rape-Related Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (RR-PTSD) suffers and I am going to discuss my battle with this horrid mental illness.

I am starting with a synopsis of the sexual assault. So if it is a trigger for anybody, you may want to skip the next two paragraphs. It is not in completely detail, but I thought a warning may be a good idea.

I was raped by someone I thought was a friend and the assault happened at work. It was so very difficult for my mind to process because this particular predator had set up a long routine of sexual harassment prior. When the actual incident happened I didn’t know what to think. My mind went into denial. My therapist has now explained to me that this is a proper and normal way for the mind to deal with something so traumatic. That way the mind can process the incident slowly and not be overwhelmed. I had marital problems due to this. I told my husband (bless him, he is still with me) that, “I think I had cheated on him, but I didn’t want to”. We went to counseling at the Employee Assistance Program I had through work. I thought I would get at least adequate help there. The man there, when hearing me say that it was easier right now for me to say I cheated on my husband that for me to say I was raped by a man whom I had and was continuing to work with, told me that the proper course of action was to take the man aside to a quiet, private place and tell him it couldn’t happen again. I was to confront my attacker.

Now, at the time I was unable to see what horrid advice this was and the danger it presented to me, so I did it. I told my attacker I “Didn’t want to go that far” and he told me that he knew. HE KNEW! Those words just rang around in my head as I looked around the deserted area we were in. Those words spiraled around like a hurricane and broke the dam of my denial. Every single emotion, every single relationship, EVERY SINGLE THING was washing over me. It was as if I was standing in a valley when the dam broke and I had no where to run and no hope of rescue. No human mind can withstand the dam of denial being broken so suddenly and so close to the incident. My mind broke.

I tried to carry on, I did. I come from an Eastern European family. We don’t show emotion in public and we don’t show weakness. I was never specifically told that, but it was modeled for me by both parents. When my mind broke, I went through the four hall-marks of RR-PTSD (1), made all the worse because I was not to show emotion in public or any weakness.

I lived a life of hell. Over and over this happened. I had what was called Disassociated Flashbacks. These caused me to see, smell, hear, and physically live the rape over and over again. When these came on (and anything could bring it on) I was experiencing it all again. My husband learned from the rape counselors at Planned Parenthood how to try to bring me out. I had nightmares that actually made me not want to sleep. I didn’t sleep. What breaks my heart, still to this day, is that my son, who was 2 at the time, knew how to try to bring me out. As I was coming out of some I distinctly remember my 2 year old saying, “Mommy, Mommy where are you? You are in your bed!” as he was standing back from me. He knew Mommy would hit and punch at anybody who tried to touch her until she was out of the flashback (I didn’t see the person in front of me, I only saw my attacker). I lived the nightmare probably 90% of the day and night. I was not in this world, but in hell. Eventually it caused me to not sleep for 3 days straight. Then, when I couldn’t take the guilt or the pain anymore, I tried to end it all. I was quickly admitted and was put on medicine to slow down and stop the disassociated part of the flashbacks. To this day (over 5 years later) I still experience flashbacks and nightmares.

I have withdrawn completely from a social life. I do have more of an online life. However all trust was pulled out from under me when the dam of denial came crashing down. I examined every single relationship I had, because after all I had trusted this person as well. I am still in withdrawal and working in therapy to try to change this. I can only talk on the phone to a few people (after all it requires trust. How do I know it’s really the person on the phone and not someone else?) I can’t form new relationships in person. That would require trusting the person with at least some information, just to start the relationship. I can’t work, because who would want a nurse who can’t talk on the phone, freaks out about the smallest thing, and doesn’t trust anybody? I get anxiety attacks going outside my house. I don’t have a life outside my house.

I avoid the place that this happened. I have been there a handful of times to visit family, as it is a hospital. Each time I go I have had to prepare myself, get my crystals together, and try not to lose it on my husband, who has come every single time. I avoid other hospitals as well. The smell of hospitals reminds me. I avoid watching TV show or reading books that may set off another reminder. If I do happen to see a TV show that is a trigger, it will set it off for a while. Just recently I watched a TV show that unexpectedly triggered flashbacks and memories. It was over a week before I could sleep at night again and I am still having more nightmares than normal.

This is probably one of worst symptoms. I see danger everywhere. I have 5 cats in my house and they are constantly playing at night. I will wake up in terror because I heard a bang, even if I KNOW it was a cat. I see danger when my child is playing on the swing set. When my son goes to school and develops friends, sending him to their house releases such a terror in me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. I see major crisis when other see small crisis or maybe even nothing at all. Any sound catches my attention and causes me to get anxious. After it first happened we lived in an apartment and I would literally look around corners before going down the hall. Some days, when I am having more problems, I still do that. In my own house.

Sexual Assault is not something that is easy to get over by any means. Somebody told me, shortly after the rape, that they “thought I was stronger than this”. I have only very recently accepted that anybody, no matter how strong, when having that dam of denial broken would have a breakdown. That is progress I suppose. I still have so many days when I wish the denial dam was up. I could be working. I could be LIVING.

I have so much guilt because I have PTSD: My son had to learn how to get me out of the flashbacks, and see me in such a state. My daughter will never know the fun, carefree person I was before the rape. I broke my husband’s heart in the way I told him that I thought I’d cheated on him. when I broke down and needed all the hospitalizations and medicines and lost our health insurance. I ruined my family’s finances, which have only very recently recovered. My son feels like I abandoned him when I was hospitalized, and to this day has issues with that.

I suppose there are some good things that have come out of this: I have become, in my own way, more spiritual. My son is the most compassionate boy. If someone is upset or sick, he is the first to help. Because of my horrid pregnancies my daughter would most likely not have been born at the time she was. My mother-in-law and I would never have been as close as we are, as she would never have had the opportunity to hold me as I was crying and assure me it was not my fault. We have all learned compassion and to have a non-judgmental attitude towards others, as others judged us and we know how it feels.

This rape has left me with permanent scars, scars that will never be removed. I have relatively recently come to realize that I will be cleaning up the floods of the dam of denial for the rest of my life. And the saddest part of my experience is how little people knew. Why, oh why, doesn’t the newspaper, magazines, and publishers, let us know that this exists? What I found regarding this was on official websites. Websites you find AFTER it happens and you are already having trouble.

I believe this type of PTSD is the hidden one because we have to admit that there areingcriminals live in our neighborhoods. They may be the person next door or the co-worker you trust, not the bad guys in another country or a natural disaster that only happens to “other people”. This saddens me, because we do a disservice to ourselves. We hide in the sand, but hiding in the sand won’t help when the flood waters of denial come rushing at you. I should know, I’ve lived it.

Call Me Crazy

2010-04-22T21:41:00.000-07:00

I started this post a little over a week ago and then decided to hold onto it for today, Earth Day. It just seemed like a perfect fit. My plan was to post it last night but then I couldn't find some pictures I took (how do you lose digital pictures on your computer?!), couldn't find the camera to retake the pictures and just got too tired. Then today was super busy and now I'm just hoping to finish and post it before Earth Day is over. So much for perfect. (Oooh, I made it, up before the end of the day!)

So, call me crazy.

We stopped using paper towels. Now, in place of the roll of paper towels on the rack mounted under the cabinet we have large, double sided cloth napkins that snap together. Crazy? Yeah, I know. But before you go and dismiss me as a crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy... oh, too late. Ok, so maybe I am kind of a crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy but I have good reasons! Other than the crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy reasons.

Our "un-paper" kitchen towels.

The 2 "wetbags" we have hanging on our stove to put the dirty towels in.

I almost took a picture of the roll of paper towels hiding in the cabinet that we use for greasing pans. But that just seemed too crazy, even for me. See, I'm not that nuts.

It started rather innocently. We had been using cloth diapers for over a year and were surprised that it really wasn't too much work. Having gotten used to the cloth thing for diapers I saw discussions online about other cloth alternatives. Doing some research, I started wondering about the possibility of switching us over. I admit, my first reasons were of the crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy variety but then I started to wonder about money. After doing some math I realized that maybe it was worth saving money. And I like that I can do a little of that "save the earth" bit and "save the money" bit at the same time. Sometimes it doesn't exactly seem like they go hand in hand but a lot of times they do, you just have to examine it closely. Again, not that crazy!

We feel good about our choice and we just like it too. Bounty may be the thicker, quicker picker-upper but that paper's got nothin' on flannel and terry cloth in pretty prints that look good in my kitchen! Talk about absorbent, Bounty is trying to be these guys.
The wetbags I got from SweetSlings and we love them. Great size, well made, and pretty. The towels were from a co-op but you can find something similar from a few different places including Bug 'n Ed who is offering up a $15 GC right now on The Leaky Boob.

The beautiful mess that started it all, our diaper laundry.

O-muh-gosh. Uh, I took a picture of the dirty diapers in the washer. Three pictures, in fact, because I was messing with the lighting. For diapers.

Holy crap, I am crazy!

It's coming

2010-04-22T15:13:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post last week recognizing Sexual Assault Awareness Month and promised more on the topic. What I didn't anticipate was the outpouring of responses I received both in e-mails, FaceBook messages, and direct contact of others sharing their personal stories of surviving abuse. Some asking for help. This is an incredible honor to me, I can't even begin to tell you what a huge blessing it is to know that in some small way our experience can touch and help others. Shortly after we learned of the abuse of our daughters there was one evening after a particularly trying day with developments in our case where I vowed to The Piano Man and God that this was not in vain. All snotty faced, blotchy, hoarse and swollen I begged God to use this to help others, use it for good. If just a short simple post on a little blog helps even one person then I know then God is turning this evil to good. The sexual abuse history of our family does not have power over us, instead, it has turned into something that lets us walk with others, providing support, love, help, and acceptance. We can't eradicate the evils in this world but we can help others avoid the same, soften the blow if it comes, and hold their hand through the healing journey.

So there is more coming, I've been working on a couple of posts that I want to share but sometimes I have to just stop and rest my spirit. Soon though, be looking for them very soon.

Thrifty Treasures

2010-04-21T14:32:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time I thought thrift stores were disgusting and I was embarrassed that my mom made us shop at them. They were smelly, the clothes were all these nasty oranges, browns and puke greens or obviously from the closet of someone no longer living. Worst of all, there was no chance that I'd find Guess? jeans, Keds sneakers or Members Only jackets. Shopping in a thrift store was pure torture and I just prayed nobody would see me going into one of those places. My teenage self-esteem suffered greatly. The most humiliating thrift store of all? Goodwill. I knew kids that used the name as an insult. "Dude, that's so ugly you must have gotten it at Goodwill." How did they know! Ugh. It was enough to make a 15 year old want to crawl under a rock.

And today? Yeah, today I'm bragging about my thrift store finds. Because they are awesome. Awesomely from Goodwill too.

The whole loot.

Key hooks, message center and file holder. ($6)

Cool wood box with slots, the label burned into the side. ($2)

Two lamps that I just love.
Someone ran off with the topper but I found it after taking this pic. ($12)

The mugs, a set of 4 (2 pictured) light green crackle stoneware mugs ($1),
one dark olive green mug with "TEA" on the side ($.25) and a "Biscotti" lemons cookie jar ($3).

Drawers cabinet. ($3)

Wood chair. Surprisingly comfortable, if ugly. ($9)

This chair now looks like this:

Jo-Ann's was having a sale on these squares of fabric, 2/$2. I lightly sanded the chair not removing all of the old finish and then painted it with a thin coat of black wood stain letting the old brown show through. I love how it turned out.

I forgot about this little guy! The images were in a different photo album so he completely slipped my mind. A lemon yellow enamel owl trivet. I think he is destined for the wall, to keep an eye on things.

Ready... $.69
SCORE!

I'm not sure if I've grown up enough to not care about shopping in thrift stores or if thrift stores have changed. Probably both. Either way though, the stigma of shopping in thrift stores has lifted for the most part and in fact has an new element of "cool" to it even. Dare I say trendy? Who knows. But I'm not the only one bragging online about my thrift store finds. You should see what Posh Pieces does with the stuff she finds.

Jessica’s Fab Slow-Cooker, cook it over-night, Breakfast Casserole

2010-04-17T16:25:00.000-07:00

I love frittatas. Mmmmmm, so good. But work. In the morning. When I don't function so well. I've done things like melt the handle of my best pan in the morning making frittatas. I like breakfast casseroles too. A little less work and still yummy. But I have to use my oven and my oven is the modern day wood stove for house heating. In south eastern Texas. Like we need more heat. Plus it's still that whole having to function in the morning thing. I really just want to wake up with breakfast done. This explains why cereal is a hit.

Enter the slow cooker. I love my Crock-Pot, a wedding gift still going strong 14 years later. It was really just a matter of time before we figured something out with the Crock-Pot love, the frittatas/egg casserole affection, and me not being a morning person. Waking up with a hot breakfast that is delicious and ready to go is better than any pampering option I can think of because it pretty much means more sleep. I like sleep.

I tried this first. Meh, it was ok. I liked certain things about it. Like how fast it was to make and then I woke up with it done. Or would have had I remembered to turn it ON before going to bed. Oh, shut-up. How often do you turn something on to cook before going to bed? Yeah, I'd laugh at me too. The next time I did remember and it was ok, not great but something I'd make again, which I did but totally changed. Because I never, ever cook the same thing exactly the same way twice. Even if the first time I didn't actually cook it.

So then I read this but didn't make it. After all, it has bell peppers in it and I wouldn't eat it let-alone expect my kids to. But it had some good ideas which I borrowed later. I've also borrowed from this and this. And I've done spin-offs on this too. Yum. Breakfast in the Crock-Pot. I love the Year of Slowcooking blog and Stephanie is a culinary genius figuring out how to make masterpieces that tickle the tongue but don't take a lot of time and best of all, use the slow-cookers. Isn't she just grand?! If I met her, I'm pretty sure I'd swoon.

Anyway, they were all yummy but not as good as a frittata so I was still on the hunt. I found Crock-Pot's Slow Cooker Recipes for All Occasions at my local thrift store for $2 and tucked inside was a very promising recipe for a breakfast bake. I made it and it was well received by the family but still not exactly what I was looking for. So after a lot of tweaking, I've come up with this. Which is still so-not a frittata but it is close on the yummy scale.

This baby cooks over night. For real. How great is that? Sorry, no picture. Well, there are pictures but they have absolutely nothing to do with this post or the recipe. They do have everything to do with the new Hipstamatic app I've got on my phone. Love it, I'm having so much fun.

I used my 3 quart Crock-Pot. Please note, I cook a lot by feel so some of these measurements are approximate. Which pretty much means I have no idea...

15 large eggs (This quantity is solid, I know it was a dozen + 3)
1/2 Cup milk (give or take?)
1 1/2 Cups sliced or chopped sausage (or whatever looks good to you)
2 green onions, chopped
One loaf of crusty or artisan bread (not sandwich bread), torn up of cubed (maybe 4 cups?)
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried basil (or more, I really like basil)
1 tsp pepper
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp garlic powder (who really knows, I really like garlic too)
3 cups fresh baby spinach leaves
1 cup sharp shredded cheddar cheese
shortening

Grease inside of slow-cooker insert. Non-stick sprays don't work as well, I have found.

Whisk together eggs, milk and dried spices. Alternating ingredients, layer bread, spinach, sausage, onions and some of the egg mixture over the dry layers. Repeat, layering until an inch from the top of the insert. Egg mixture will not be that visible.

Turn slower-cooker to low and cook for 6-8 hours. I usually make mine after the kids go to bed and turn it on to cook around 10pm. (If it cooks a little long it is usually ok though the sides can get a little dark.) We love this, it is a hit. In fact, I'm getting hungry and now that this finally posted I'm going to go eat some of the leftovers. Which reminds me, it keeps well so you can eat left overs for lunch or breakfast for a few days.

This recipe could feed about 6 adults which it makes it grand for brunches or having left overs. You can halve the recipe, if you do be sure that your slow cooker is at least half full to cook properly and if need be use a smaller cooker.

Variations: I’ve made this several times. Sometimes I add sun-dried tomatoes and feta or blue cheese crumbles and omit the salt. Our grocery store often has day old artisan breads which I buy and freeze, these are perfect for this recipe. We love the potato rosemary bread in this casserole as well as the focaccia style breads and three cheese breads. Pretty much anything savory though the ones with nuts and seeds don’t really work so well. I have also omitted bread and used cubed potatoes instead which is also really yummy. Sometimes I add mushrooms but shrooms in the Crock-Pot can be kind of... odd. So I usually saute them and since that creates an extra step and an extra dish it really doesn't happen that often. Though if I'm going to do it then I go ahead and saute fresh garlic too and ditch the powdered stuff. I never put white or yellow onions in, I think they are gross for breakfast but that's just a personal issue. Oh yeah, and don't do this with turkey sausage, I've tried that and it forgets that it is supposed to have a flavor. Or color. Really kind of nasty.

Removing the Cloak of Shame

2010-04-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

Did you know that April is my birthday month? Yep, it is.

Did you know that April is tax month in the USA? Oh joy, it is.

Did you know that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month? It is.

I hate it. I might want a new birthday month.

I don’t hate sexual assault awareness, honestly, I don’t. What I hate is that we need a whole month devoted to it. But I am grateful that there is a whole month devoted to it. Raising awareness of sexual assault is a worth a whole month and then some. The past 5 years of my life have been devoted to sexual assault awareness.

Those of us who have been touched by the villainous fingers of sexual assault don’t need a month set aside for awareness. We are aware. Excruciatingly, constantly, monotonously aware. Casualties of sexual abuse, most victims would relinquish that awareness willingly for a month of cluelessness. That would be bliss. Not that we could actually forget. Ever. And not that I actually think cluelessness would be a positive position. In fact, I am quite sure it would not be. As a whole I think our society chooses to be far too clueless about sexual assault. But why wouldn’t we be? Sexual assault is scary. It hurts and thinking about it might damage our precious innocence. An innocence that we fight like mad to protect but then bombard ourselves with assaulting sexual images on a regular basis while burying our heads in the sand. It isn’t innocence we’re really protecting, it is our fear. Clinging to cluelessness in an attempt to protect our fear does nothing more than to invite the very thing we fear to find a place to hide. It is from that camouflaged position of honor that sexual abuse can then control us. Contrary to what we all want to believe, none of us are immune.

It is not from atop a soap box that I spout these societal critiques but rather from the trenches. I am a survivor of sexual abuse. Two of my daughters are survivors of sexual assault. Some people think I shouldn’t admit these things at least not in so public a place. There is no shame in surviving sexual assault, for me or my daughters so we will not slink about in shadows pretending the fingers of such a vile monster have never touched us. Pretending that sexual abuse is not the problem it is provides acceptance, even a warm environment in which sexual abuse will thrive. I will proudly and loudly stand and say what some are afraid to, shinning light on the truth. Sexual abuse is alive and well and destroying, maiming lives. Lives of people all around you. Maybe yours. Busting apart the silent barricade of deceit and lies, I will do what I can do help remove the blinders of willful ignorance that feeds such abuse. Sexual assault parades around cloaked in the shame of others. Refuse to be clueless. Refuse to be silent. Refuse to shame the abused. Refuse to cling to fear.

Did you know:

1 in 4 girls is sexually abused before the age of 18. (1)
1 in 6 boys is sexually abused before the age of 18. (1)
1 in 5 children are solicited sexually while on the internet. (2,3)
Children who are abused are over 50% more likely to be arrested as juveniles. (4)
Children who are abused are 30% more likely to be arrested for a violent crime as an adult. (4)
Nearly 70% of all reported sexual assaults (including assaults on adults) occur to children ages 17 and under. (5)
An estimated 39 million survivors of childhood sexual abuse exist in America today. (6)
95% of sexually abused children are abused by a family member or someone they know and trust. (7)
Approximately 40% are abused by older or larger children whom they know. (8,9)
The median age for reported abuse is 9 years old. (10)
More than 20% of children are sexually abused before the age of 8. (10)
Over 30% of victims never disclose the experience to ANYONE. (11)
More than 75% of teenage prostitutes have been sexually abused. (12,13,14,15)
Nearly 50% of women in prison state that they were abused as children. (11)

Statistic References

Throughout the rest of the month of April I will be making more posts regarding this topic. It is an important one to me, one that has helped shape me. In the face of those statistics you may be at a little bit of a loss as to what you can do. Reading that list is the first step, trust me. Sharing about Sexual Abuse Awareness Month is another, small but strong, step. I will be sharing some of the lessons we have learned along the way and what we choose to do. We are continually on the healing road and God has done a lot in our lives already. It is to that end that I speak. I know we can't completely eradicate sexual abuse but hopefully we can lower the occurrence and walk with those that have suffered.

The Facebook Status Updates That Could Have Been:

2010-04-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

I admit it, I spend way too much time on Facebook. Even more alarming is how much time I spend thinking about Facebook. Going about my day I find myself narrating my life in Facebook status updates of 420 characters or less. Plenty of them don't make it to my wall for one reason or another but some are worth sharing somewhere. Don't judge me. I'm not the only one (yeah, yeah, I know, if everybody else jumps off a bridge are you going to and all that) and you Twitter junkies are just as bad. I won't even mention die-hard bloggers, the ones that do things just so they can blog about them. They see life as one giant blog post. Not that I have any knowledge of this personally.

Without further ado, the Facebook Status Updates that could have been:

- High Fructose Corn Syrup is the body and blood of Satan.

- Squiggle Bug eats PB&J by opening the sandwich and eating it from the inside out.

- Lady Gaga is like cotton candy: disgusting over-dyed fluff sugar that you know isn't good for you but you just. can't. stop.

- Is it a bad sign if I'm thinking of what I could put on my Facebook status just seconds after posting one?

- With the laundry and dishes done nobody notices that I haven't showered in days. Clean laundry and dishes are way more important.

- No, I don't just sit around doing nothing all day. Yes, I did just spend an hour getting smiles and laughs from Smunchie. It's a tough job but somebody's got to do it.

- I wish I had two washers, one would just be for diapers.

- 11 is the new 2!

- I do not recommend stuffing a crochet wool play cookie in your mouth even if it is to impress a 9 year old.

- You do not want to know where I just found poop.

- It turns out randomly bursting into song really does happen in real life! Either that or my children think we're in a very long musical. A very long musical that sings about everything and I do mean everything.

- When it comes to music, crap is the new pop!

- If I posted every Facebook status that comes into my head I wonder how many times poop would show up in my word tracker thingy.

- Do not threaten me or I'll be forced to spray you with breastmilk. I'm not joking.

- We started watching V and I can't stop! Which totally means I think everyone around me is actually an alien lizard thing.

- All I want to do is sit down and knit.

- "I've got my happy face on today, Les!"

- What are you doing? Nothing? Nothing doesn't look like that. You have the look of something. Something you don't want to tell me.

- "You're not my teacher!" Uh... did I not explain homeschooling to you?

- Copy and paste does not a Facebook status make. *Copy and paste this into your status if you're tired of copy and paste status updates. Only the really fed up will have the courage to do this, most people will just pretend they don't see it.*

- Awwww! Squiggle Bug is an artist! You should totally see the mural in the bathroom.

- I'm starting to think you have to already be organized to get organized.

- Dear child, as long as you are under the age of at least 14, maybe even 18, if you use the phrase "when I was a kid" I will laugh.

- WTH! Did somebody pass out crazy pills and skip me?

- I hate cupcakes. Pinocchio nose? I have no idea what you're talking about.

- Smunchie hates being alone. This works out well. With 4 big sisters being alone won't even happen when she learns how to use the bathroom.

- I totally came up with, like, 6 great status updates in the last hour but didn't want to appear like I have a Facebook problem by sharing them all. Oh, guess I shouldn't have said that.

Sweet and Simple Birthday.

2010-04-09T20:29:00.000-07:00

I had a lovely birthday. The girls, Earth Baby, Storyteller, Lolie, Squiggle Bug, and Smunchie conspired with The Piano Man to make my day special. I forgot to take pictures throughout the day but I did remember now and then. The day was simple and special, memorable in so many ways. The Piano Man made fruit topped pancakes with coffee for breakfast, the girls gave me homemade birthday cards (no pictures! I'll have to fix that) and hugs and kisses. After The Piano Man took off to teach, Lolie read me a story she wrote and read a book to me, Storyteller gave me a book of 8 chapters she wrote, Earth Baby gave me a beautiful piece of art (again, no picture) and Squiggle Bug gave me "cubbles" and a fist full of tiny white flowers Storyteller helped her gather. Together we sat down and picked out projects from the "Warm Fuzzies" felted projects book, found the sweaters we would be cutting up and spent some time outside in the beautiful weather the day granted us.

The Piano Man came home and cooked up a delicious lunch of polenta topped with mushrooms, asparagus, sundried tomatoes, pine-nuts, garlic, and basil in a wine sauce. The perfect finale was a Charlotte au Chocolat, an adult version and one for the girls. Quite time gave The Piano Man and I time to finish off our pieces of cake over coffee. Whenever we get to have a cup of coffee in the afternoon while naps and quite time are happening I feel like we got a mini-date, having it happen on my birthday was a gift.

In the evening the girls threw me a party at the zoo. Ok, that isn't exactly how it went down, there was Zoobilee that evening. The Piano Man had rehearsal and couldn't join us so us girls went on our own. Yes, it is true. I took 5 children to the zoo. By myself. On my birthday. My birthday celebration dinner was at the zoo and I'm not under the age of 12. Or even 21. On Facebook I asked if that meant I was super lame or a super cool mom. I got a mixed response. A zoo party is a great place to be for a birthday though, there were hoola-hoop competitions, dance-offs, fun costumed dancers, passports to get stamped, animals to see, temporary air-brush tattoos to get, big soft pretzels to devour and loads more. We had a great time and only once did I feel like I was, well, in a zoo.

I had planned to get a pedi but ripped off half of my big toenail on my right foot that day so the pedi will have to wait. I did get a haircut though, and went out with a friend to enjoy a Sugarbaby's cupcake and some Starbucks. Later I'll do some shopping, I'll probably go crazy and buy something like white paint for the new shelves in the kitchen. Yes, I realize I'm a real grown-up when I'm considering dishware, shelves and a new spatula as birthday gifts. Well, that and a writers conference. Gosh, I sound so old!

2010-04-08T09:28:00.001-07:00

There's a give-away on my other blog in honor of my birthday. Check it out and enter for some fun! And if you haven't already, read the posts below, get clicky on some of the banners on the side and leave me a comment saying hi! That's my bloggy birthday wish!

Better than Bling

2010-04-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

(Squiggle Bug babywears Raffie)

I wear my baby. And my toddler. I'm a babywearing mama. No matter my outfit, they match. The perfect accessory, they go with blue jeans, silk skirts, and t-shirts and vintage jackets. Better than bling, they boldly proclaim my status to the world: I AM A MOM!

(Smunchie- 4 weeks and Squiggle Bug- 2 years, on me, iPhone pic by The Storyteller)

Because people couldn't already tell I'm a mom. Ok, so I don't babywear to look cool or make sure my status as MOM is known. I'm pretty sure that could be made clear with the constant spit-up decoration on my shoulder, the massive diaper bag and the fact that I have 5 small people running around regularly calling me "Mommy!" apparently just so they can declare who I am to the entire world. Not because they actually have anything to say. Make it 4, Smunchie isn't talking yet. I can't even imagine what it will be like with one more, children have an amazing ability to increase volume exponentially.

(Lolie wears her new baby in a kid tai by Sweet Slings)

No, I wear my babies for other reasons than making a fashion statement. Though babywearing does kind of save me from having to worry about fashion, nobody can tell what I'm wearing when there is a super sweet jelly kid on my back or front. In fact, people almost don't notice me, just the tiny people that seemed to sprout extra long legs and a head. I put my babies in slings, wraps, Mei Tais, and soft structured carriers for far greater reasons than fashion. I didn't have a kid (or 5) so I could look cool, even though I do.

I wear them for convenience. I mean, gosh, I need my arms, I can't stand around holding a kid all day. Sheesh.

(Multi-tasking, building an art piece while wearing and nursing Smunchie)

Alright, that's actually true but that isn't the only reason any more. It started out that way, to be sure and I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I have times when I wrap a little one on me so I can actually get the dishes done, vacuum the carpet (mom, stop laughing, I do vacuum... sometimes), or have a phone conversation but I keep my babies tied to my body with strips of fabric so I can be close to them and they can be close to me. There was a time when I bought the idea that we needed to make our little people as independent as possible from the get-go but over time and over the course of my parenting experiences, I don't feel that way any more. I actually think it is a good thing if my baby is attached to me and I am attached to them.

(My view of Smunchie in the wrap, iPhone pic)

However, I don't call myself an Attachment Parent-er. Or whatever. I don't like labels. I have a a label phobia. I'm label-phobic. Oh crap, now I'm labeled again! Gah. Anyway, there are principles of Attachment Parenting I love, The Piano Man and I do a lot of them instinctively but still we don't consider ourselves AP. It probably really does just go back to the label thing. We choose to wear our babies because though we started doing it for convenience reasons we noticed a few things about babywearing. For starters, we just like having them close, it feels good to them and to us. The stroller started to seem like a pain in the rear compared to the sling. Our babies were way happier on us than anywhere else. The easiest way to sooth an upset baby that didn't need to nurse was to wrap her close to us. On cold days it was so cozy and we could know she was ok. We felt like we didn't miss anything, smiles, talking, observing, all of it was right there. When we started thinking about it, it just seemed more pleasant for our baby to be up close to us being able to see what was going on around them clearly. I noticed that I talk to my babies more, interact with them more when they are on me and yes, talk to, not at. And the big one was just the contact, it seemed like an easier transition to go from the womb, to being snuggled up in a wrap, to hanging out on mommy or daddy's back, and then exploring the world, knowing they can come back when they need to.

(The Piano Man wears Squiggle Bug on a bike ride in a Beco)

So we are big time babywearers now. There has been some concern about babywearing safety lately, this post isn't about that though but check out some of these hyperlinks. We don't use the types of carriers that were recently recalled, we prefer wraps, ring slings, soft structure carriers, and Mai Teis. If you are a babywearing mama or daddy, check out my friend Shanna's blog for ideas on how to respond to the inevitable "you know those things kills babies, right?" concern you'll get now. I'm not in a hurry for my babies to grow up and not need me any more, most parents aren't. Ok, sometimes I am but those come from a place of feeling overwhelmed and tired. But most of the time, I'm trying to savor the moments because I know they go by all too quickly. What better way to do that than to have my baby on me for as long as we can?

ETA: There is a babywearing safety workshop this Saturday for Houston families. Facebook event link and the vital info:
Sling Safety Workshop

Date	Saturday, April 10, 2010
Time:	12:30pm - 1:30pm
Location:	3701 West Alabama Street

Books, parenting and some rambling thoughts.

2010-04-05T14:06:00.000-07:00

We just got back from the bookstore. I love books. I love bookstores. They are awesome and I can loose myself for hours in them. Books are wonderful, opening doors to stories and places, lives you never would have imagined on your own. Ideas for cooking, crafting, creating, abound and in the leaves of a colorful book you may discover a passion for a hobby you didn't even know existed. Do-It-Yourself books, relationship advice, and spirituality titles boost confidence that we can do, be or become whatever we want. Every difficulty and challenge can be mastered if we're armed with the contents of the shelves in any given section. Need to know how to fix plumbing? Other than this book you'll just need a wrench! Going to build something? Get this book first. Want to understand your faith better? All laid out for you right here! In pursuit of happiness? Follow these 7 easy steps! Your husband an ass? Read this and have a new one by Friday! Your child is a handful? The answer is right here!

I get sucked in quickly. I start thinking I should get this book for cooking tips, this other one for knitting ideas, another one for home schooling, and yet another one for parenting. Today we were getting to spend gift certificates so I wasn't on a mission but because the girls needed help weighing their options (suddenly their gift cards seemed very small) I wasn't able to spend much time browsing myself. There was one book I was looking for that had been on my list for quite some time. When I had a moment I headed over to the parenting section and begin to browse. The book I was searching for wasn't on the shelf so I read through the titles to see if anything else caught my eye. It didn't take long for something else to jump out at me. The titles and blurbs on most of the books read as though children are problems. That if you just read this one book and follow their step by step instructions, you can turn your child into the perfect little mini-me you wanted. There were few books that seemed to focus on helping parents understand their child instead of telling parents how to change their children but in my eyes even those seemed to be lacking something. Something profound yet so simple. With the exception of special needs children, most of those books addressed what parents could naturally find in community with others, a community of parents and non-parents.

But more often when moms and dads get together and have the opportunity to share ideas and experiences, including the difficulties, it becomes a competition. Instead of finding support we often enter into a bizarre game of "my child is better/worse than yours, I have it better/harder than you." I think we miss the opportunity to actually support and learn from each other. Would we need so many books on parenting if we could realize that this parenting thing isn't a competition? That these books aren't manuals on how to win the parenting Olympics? Or that being the perfect parent is a myth? And that having the perfect child isn't possible? That what we're all really shooting for is to not screw them up too badly?

Want to hear a secret? No matter what it looks like at any given moment I know you don't have all your shit together and you know I don't have all my shit together.

Here's another secret: it isn't a competition and we don't have to go it alone.

What works for one family may not work for another but we don't need to go buying book after book to find answers. Books are great but they don't take the place of community. Being together with other parents, parents at all stages in their parenting, we can share so much more and not only save money but have true friends as well. Let's cut the crap people, we're all in the same boat and none of us have it figured out entirely. If we could silence the parenting games we may find that we have good instincts when it comes to rearing our children and when we feel at a loss, maybe there is a friend that can encourage us. It is possible, I really think it is.

Miracle Grow for Boobs

2010-04-02T14:41:00.000-07:00

Ok, this blog will get really dull very fast if I link to The Leaky Boob every time there is something interesting there. That said, I made a new post there today, a comical look at the changes pregnancy wrought my chest. Could be TMI for some of you but if you've ever breastfed, are thinking you will breastfeed some day or your just plain curious, go check it out.

Blog swap

2010-04-01T09:41:00.001-07:00

I participated in a post swap today with The Leaky Boob and Authentic Parenting. The journey into Unschooling for our family wasn't one I entered willingly. I resisted homeschooling with everything I had and UnSchooling was even more terrifying. Though we are no longer UnSchooling at the same level or what we'd like, we cherish the year plus that we were able to enjoy the UnSchooling experience and learned a lot from that time that we still utilize in our educational journey today. I hope you take the time to check out the Authentic Parenting blog and become a fan of their Facebook fan page.

Random Spring WIP

2010-03-30T13:57:00.000-07:00

It is spring. The impact of the season is a little lost in a climate such as Houston. But still, it is spring and we are enjoying the more mild weather of the season by being outdoors as often as possible.

Meh. That's how I feel right now. Like the swirling waters of a Houston flash flood my mind is raging with so many thoughts and ideas that none of it makes sense. Like why I'm a rebel and paper towels, parenting, babywearing, feminism, dreams, writing, France, schooling, birth, work, friendships, church, art, Lent, redecorating (is it redecorating if you never decorated in the first place?), organizing, house cleaning, spanking, eating, cooking, books, what kind of mom I am, sacred rhythms, childhood, discipline, and on and on and on. Clear as mud, right? And my house is a mess. Which is pissing me off.

So the machine is back and the very first thing I typed last night had loads of extra letters. I freaked. As in my eyes bulged out of my head, my jaw dropped, I snapped the computer closed and exhaled a slow-mo "noooooooo" as my chin dropped to my chest and I slumped in my chair. The Piano Man came rushing in, worried something was seriously wrong with somebody, as in a live, breathing person not an inanimate object. Since nobody was actually hurt (I beg to differ, the computer IS a person too), he suggested we make another appointment. I didn't want to do that, that would mean going back to the mall! I broke out in a cold sweat just imagining it again. No, I wanted an entirely different approach. The "let's-pretend-nothing-is-wrong-and-try-it-again-where-it-will-be-magically-healed" approach. And you know what? It worked! My friend Mac is back in action. I love that pretty little glowing apple.

So since the machine was out of action for a few days I'm behind on my Weekend WIP. I'm behind on everything though and I can't blame it on the computer. No, wait, maybe I can. The laundry, I'm behind on the laundry and it is totally because of the computer. Crap, that's true too. Man, I was trying to be tongue in cheek.

WIPs!

Knitting is tres slow going these days.

Mindless knitting: dish rags.

Found some old shelves out by the trash and we're (read: The Piano Man) is using the wood for part of our reorganization/redecorating WIP.

Shelving between kitchen and dining room.

And in the Living Room:
Creating an office nook.

Yarn and knitting finds a place.

Decluttering Magazines.
I love Family Fun and a few other mags but can't hold on to old issues so I'm cutting out the recipes, projects, ideas and articles I want to keep and sorting them into page protectors and binders.

The WIP family:

The Piano Man made a shield for the birthday girl.

Smunchie started laughing. We all live to get a giggle from her now.

I've read that one or two photos are enough for each blog post so I guess that means I use too many. Whatever, I don't care. I like pictures.

I tried to get a pic of this last WIP to put up but blogger didn't like the screen shot for some reason. You'll have to click the link to see it. But you totally should, there's a give-away there.

Nevermind, tried again and it worked! Yay me!

You know you want to go check out a blog called The Leaky Boob. Who wouldn't?

So now, I'm going to go back to meh.

Make Over, Make-Me-Over!

2010-03-28T08:26:00.000-07:00

I need to win a blog make-over because I need help. Shoot, I need to win a full body make-over (any offers?) but the blog is less intimidating. ;) So I'm hoping to win this from Toddler Awesome.

2010-03-27T12:00:00.000-07:00

Post over on The Leaky Boob today. For some reason the possessed keyboard cooperated.

Hello Gibberish

2010-03-26T13:28:00.000-07:00

(These odd little face sculptures were hidden on the side of two buildings in Montmarte Paris. I think they're great.)

I want to write a post for todayr, I hfave several in mind. In fact, I fhave so manry blog posts floating around in myr fhead I can't even pick wfhicfh one to actuallyr write. As I go about mry dayr working, caring for kids, cooking, blafh, blahf, blafh, I am constantlry carrying on mini-conversations withf readers. Crafhting new posts, many that never materialize on my blog. Wfhicfh means I talk to myrself. In mry fhead. Tfhis could mean blogging isn't actuallyr fhealtfhyr for me. Or it means I'm strange and would do tfhat anyrwarys. But I'm not going to do a real tfhougfhtful blog post righft now, as ryou can see, I'm fhaving issues. No, not tfhose kind of issues, tfhoughf I fhave thfose too but computer/typing issues. And track-pad issues. Wfhen I type tfhe letter "H" mryr computer randomlyr contributes an extra "f" or two. And vice versa. Same tfhing hfappens withf tfhe "y" and "r." But it doesn't do it every time, just most every time.

Thfis. Is so. Annoyring.

"The torture of the anvil life with thin wings."

(On a wall in Montmart, Paris)

Tfhe computer went into tfhe Apple Store today for thfem to save tfhe day. Guess wfhat tfhey said. Yep, tfhere's a problem. You need a new thfing. Ok, tfhey didn't say thfing, I'm not sure wfhat tfhey said but I need a new thfing and tfhey don't fhave thfe tfhing I need so it is on order. Wfhen tfhis new thfing comes in tfhey'll call and we'll take thfe computer up wfhere it will fhave to stay 1-3 days. So in tfhat 1-3 days I'll be reading books. Yes, tfhat's wfhat I've decided. Not cleaning, not cooking, not writing, but reading books. I can always fhind ways to avoid productivity. But reading is productive! I swear, I only read productive reading materials. Tfhe Nanny Diaries qualifies as productive literature, rigfht? HFYR. Yum. Fun. Random letters.

So because I don't want to drive myself crazy trying to post pictures from L's b-day wfhen my track pad isn't working correctly and I'll drive myself crazy trying to write any of tfhe otfher potential posts rattling around in my hfead and cleaning up excess letters constantly. All serious posting is postponed until I hfave a macfhine tfhat doesn't give my written voice some sort of bizarre lisp. I will try to post some WIP tomorrow and maybe copy and paste an old post or sometfhing I've written but never shfared. Maybe. Maybe not. I don't like to commit. Oddly enoughf, thfe madness witfh my computer seems to be reflecting some of my own feelings, a sudden onset of gibberish. Maybe some "quiet" is a good idea to sort thfings out.

Are you crafty?

2010-03-24T15:28:00.000-07:00

Have you seen this site? Very cool! They have a Facebook page too. Crafters of all ages will find something to create there. Got to love that!

Oui, Oui, Da, Da

2010-03-24T08:17:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is a special day, my second daughter celebrates her 9th birthday. Her beginning was rough not because of too many physical complications but rather some emotional challenges my family suffered through. The day L was born my family lost one of the most wonderful people this world has ever known, my maternal grandmother. Ouida Bailey was not exactly a saint but pretty close. The daughter of an evangelist she traveled around with her twin and younger sister as a trio called the Blue Bonnet Sisters. Her middle name was Kentucky, her twin bearing Texas as her second name. Quiet and unassuming, Ouida was not usually the one to garner a lot of attention. Grandma studied piano and German in college and went on to marry a young man in the military. Living up to her name (yes in French and Russian), my grandmother almost never said no to anyone. Sweet, kind, gentle and giving, Grandma taught piano for years, not having children until later in life when first my uncle and then my mom were born several years apart. Grandma was very involved in my childhood, often babysitting and spending time with us, sharing music and ice cream. Somewhat of a nervous person she worried about all of us, reminding us over and over again of safety practices and wanted to be sure we were cautious. A victim of domestic violence my grandmother struggled with fear, a struggle that was only amplified with the onset of dementia. Late in my pregnancy with L, fearing I wouldn't get to see her again, I flew from Illinois to Florida to see her. The disease had destroyed much of her mind and she only had a few lucid moments of remembering who I was and during one of brief instances, with her hand on my baby bump, she spoke blessings over me and my family. Those blessings have stayed with me ever since. The morning of March 25, 2001 my grandmother breathed her last and died at 10.10 EST. Preparing to lead worship at my church, I was off to the side praying when I felt a strong contraction that set itself apart from all the others I had experienced off and on in the previous few weeks. Noting the time I knew that I would be having a baby that day. My watch read 9.10 CST. A few hours later I got the message that grandma had past and after a phone call with my mom, I took a nap. It was a strong contraction that woke me and I knew I was in active labor, something that I had wanted desperately just the day before when it was happening I wished would stopped and wait another week. L was born at 7 that evening, my first home birth. As I held my beautiful new baby, who's name meant pure beauty, I wondered if she would be like my grandmother in any way. As I grieved my grandmother's passing I also rejoiced, my family was richly blessed. Though born in Illinois, Lavinia was born during Texas Blue Bonnet Season and having lived here since she was not yet two, I have celebrated my daughter and my grandmother every year with the Texas Blue Bonnets. Tomorrow we will have cake and presents, sing songs, play, eat L's favorite food, talk with my parents and my mom and I will acknowledge at some point the other special woman we honor on March 25th. L knows that her birthday also marks the day Grandma Bailey moved on and though her personality is very different from her great-grandma's, they share a unique bond. Those of us that have been privileged to know either of them and especially those that have been so favored as to know them both are blessed people indeed.

Below is a song I wrote dedicated to these two special people.

Oui, Oui, Da, Da
By Jessica Martin-Weber for Ouida and Lavinia

One of two she always had an and
All along the way she’d quietly stand
Low tones warm and soft
Never held herself aloft
Heavy eyelids with lashes low
She was one to take it slow
Blue bonnet fields bobbing, bobbing, bobbing
Smiles and laughter sobbing, sobbing

Almost invisible

Yes, yes almost invisible
Oui, oui Presque invisible
Да, Да, Почти невидимый
She could never say no.

Affection from another of desire
Breathes into being a gentle fire
Promises made and hopes begin to bloom
Then delicate flower crushed too soon
Purple eyelids heavy and low
He wasn’t one to take it slow
Blue bonnet fields bobbing, bobbing, bobbing
Smiles and laughter sobbing, sobbing

Almost invisible

Yes, yes almost invisible
Oui, oui Presque invisible
Да, Да, Почти невидимый
She could never say no.

From her carved flesh and womb
She had another to groom
Time sang it’s sweet sad song
Two more mother’s come along
Now her eyelids heavy and low
She was one to take it slow
Blue bonnet fields bobbing, bobbing, bobbing
Smiles and laughter sobbing, sobbing

Like a woman pushed and torn
One dies and one is born
In the agony and bliss
It all comes down to this
Our stories intertwine
What is yours and what is mine
The songs of love and loss
We bear each other’s cross
To share a legacy of love

When she went on her way
I held pure beauty that day
Victory wept for yes
We knew our souls were blessed
Our eyelids heavy and low
Neither one the other would know
Blue bonnet fields bobbing, bobbing, bobbing
Smiles and laughter sobbing, sobbing

Yes, yes almost invisible
Oui, oui Presque invisible
Да, Да, Почти невидимый
Yes, yes, no longer invisible
Oui, oui, jamais plus invisible
Да, Да, больше невидимый

I love you Grandma.

If you read my blog...

2010-03-23T15:39:00.000-07:00

Would you mind clicking that little banner on the side there for Top Mommy Blogs and vote for me? Pretty please? Pretty please with chocolate syrup, whipped cream and a cherry on top? And go check out the site too and discover some other cool blogs.

The Measure of Indecency

2010-03-22T20:34:00.001-07:00

Hello! Up here! My eyes. You’ve been so busy staring elsewhere that you probably haven’t even noticed I have eyes let alone looked in them long enough to tell me what color they are. I admit, the color of my eyes can be hard to nail down, it really depends on what I’m wearing or the color of the frames on my glasses provided I’m wearing any. Glasses! I always wear socks with sneakers, I was talking about glasses. Ugh, why must you only see me for that? As though that’s all I’m good for. It’s not like they are new, they’ve been around as long as humans have and most everyone has them.

Excuse me, it bothers you when I walk? You do realize that the primary function of my ankles is to help me walk on my feet, don’t you? I see, seeing them used in a different way is gross. Uh-huh. Would you rather I just sit around with my feet up, my ankles hidden discretely beneath my pants or skirt until they are to be viewed and touched for pleasure? Hmmmm, this could complicate things, like my life. And caring for my children. So it makes other people uncomfortable to see a woman’s ankles when she’s chasing her children around, keeping them safe, providing them with the best opportunities and using her ankles as, oh, I don’t know, how they are intended to be used? I should be worried about offending other people? Interesting. I’m really far more concerned about doing the best I can for my children. Research shows that mothers that are able to should let their children run and be active and for that to happen best a mother needs her ankles to chase after them. Saving them only for her partner’s pleasure would get in the way of her children’s health! Oh, I can use them, you just want me to cover them up. With a blanket. Or one of those fashionable things made just for that.

Wow. That really makes it difficult not to mention, uncomfortable and likely dangerous. What exactly would be adequate coverage? Adequate and safe? When I’m using them to care for my children, how much can you actually see anyway? I know socks that reveal more and ankles are plastered all over magazines, billboards, TV, and movies to sell everything from sports drinks to cars to furniture. Honestly. I’m not showing any more than what you’d see watching a sitcom. Probably less, actually. And if you think that’s shocking, what about flip-flops and open toe shoes that reveal ankles AND toe cleavage? Nobody is insisting those be covered up. But a mother running around caring for her children, now that is disgusting. Please tell me, what is the measure of indecency we hold as standard? But another man seeing my ankles while I run after kids could be a turn on? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. A woman doing the best she can caring for her children, using her body as it is intended is going to be an indecent turn on? Now who is disgusting? But there could be a slip and they might SEE something! Gasp! Oh dear, what will we do! Mothers around the world are seducing men left and right using their ankles as they take care of their children! What is the world coming to?!

Now you’re saying that it is ok to use them but not only do you not want to see them used “that way” but it should stop once the child is one? How exactly does that make sense? Excuse me, but my child still needs me and it is encouraged by the experts that mothers continue to chase after their children as long as it is mutually beneficial and both parties are comfortable with it. Seriously, I don’t see how there is a magic switch that is flipped when a child turns one that she would no longer need me to walk after her. She may not even be ready to walk herself yet at that point! No, there is nothing inappropriate about me continuing to care for my child that way and I’m offended that you would say there is. It doesn’t excite me sexually, I’m not that one-dimensional, thanks. I may run around and use my ankles in a fashion only appropriate with my husband in our private times along but trust me, I couldn’t even begin to compare caring for my children to making love with my husband! I am not abusing my child by continuing to trot after them. My ankles have more than one purpose and I can differentiate between their functions, it isn’t that difficult actually and I already do it with other areas of my body so why should this be any different?

Honestly, I am sorry it makes you uncomfortable but I really can’t help but wonder if that reflects more on your issues than my ankles and my mothering. Your issues don’t have much weight in my caring for my children, sorry. If other women feel uncomfortable with their ankles so exposed while they care for their children, fine. It doesn’t bother me and if they can figure out how to gallop around after kids while hiding under a blanket then more power to them. In fact, I’m impressed, I just can’t get it to work. So I’m going to continue doing what is best for my children and while I’m not going to parade around with my ankles just hanging out there all the time for the world to see, I’m not going to hide me or my children just to make you feel better. There is nothing wrong with what I’m doing, I’m not ashamed of my ankles or using them to race around after my children. Not every woman can, I’m blessed to be able to. And no, I’m not going to cover to protect your sensibilities. Maybe your sensibilities aren’t that sensible. It is, after all, only natural for a mother to hasten to protect and give her children her best. This is my best. If you don’t like it then put a blanket over your head!

Once upon a time in a bygone era, ankles were considered a sexually indecent part of the body for a woman to show, a flamboyant display of indecency if they were revealed. Other era’s featured fashion that regularly revealed the breast mostly bare including the nipples showing while covering most every other part of the body with clothing. What we consider indecent now was at one time the height of fashion and accepted by the majority of society. Likewise, what has been considered inappropriate and immodest exposure in the past are now considered commonplace even in most of the extremely conservative circles. This post was inspired by some recent online conversations I was able to read (thanks to Woman Uncensored for sharing them) and by this article. It is intended as satire regarding nursing and "extended breastfeeding." Not that I need to explain but for the record my husband completely supports me breastfeeding our children. Also, no ankle or foot fetish here. But aren't these shoes amazing? I love them. Well, love to look at them. Wearing them, not so much. Seriously, what could be more sexy that a woman scurrying after her children in a pair of smokin' hot, deadly heels?

A Custom Designed Interactive Game

2010-03-18T01:00:00.000-07:00

"I'm bored." My 8 year old sauntered in, conjuring the most bland expression she could devise.

Looking up from my dinner preparations I assessed the situation. One sister was playing outside happily, another was reading in her room, one was napping and the other was, well, on me.

"I'm bored!" She reiterated with an exasperated emphasis. "Can I have something to eat?"

"Eating because you're bored isn't a good idea, you don't want to start that. It becomes a bad habit with health consequences that can be hard to break. We're going to be eating before long anyway, I'm making dinner. Think you can wait?" I asked.

With a sigh she grumbled that she could wait, making it clear she didn't want to.

"There's nothing to do, can I play wii or watch a movie?" came next.

Coming off of a couple of weeks of sickness, we had resorted to watching movies, playing computer games, and wii far more often than usual as a means of distraction from fevers. Though we had also read, knit, played games and fit some school work in, often just laying on the couch was all we had energy for. It was even worse when I was the one sick, the last to come down with the virus it became a free-for-all. In just that short amount of time I was hearing something that had, just weeks before, been rare in our house.

"On a beautiful day like this? When we're healthy and there is so much to explore?" I was tempted to inform her that when I was a kid, if I complained about being bored I'd be given an unsavory chore to do such as pulling weeds. Realizing that wouldn't be helpful and she had, in fact, worked turning over the garden just earlier that day and enjoyed it, I racked my brain for another idea, inwardly cursing the effects of excessive movie-watching and video game playing on my daughter's imagination and play. And her increased ability to whine.

"Why don't you go play outside with H? She's having a great time." I redirected.

"I'm tired of playing that, I want something fun, like a game. Why can't I play wii?" whined L.

"We've had a lot of screen time lately and we don't want to miss out on all the other fun there is to be had. It is the middle of the week, no screen media during the week, only on week-ends. If you'd like to play a game, you're welcome to pick one and ask your sisters to join you. I can play too once dinner is in the oven." I made my suggestions, hoping something would sound appealing.

No go.

After more suggestions that were shot down quickly by L, who had apparently done everything already, I got an idea.

"You could build an obstacle course!"

"A what?" she puzzled.

Encouraged that she didn't shoot it down right away I went on.

"An obstacle course. You could design one and then we could all run it."

"What would I build it with? We don't have anything." she was starting to whine again.

Instead of pointing out that we do, in fact, have loads of stuff and suggest some that would be ideal for an obstacle course, I decided to give her the opportunity to be creative on her own.

"Whatever you can find." I said. "Look around the yard, check out what's in the house and car port and see what you can put together to create a fun and challenging obstacle course."

At this point I should point out that if you try this with your children be sure that anything that could be truly dangerous for them to scavenger should be put safely out of their reach with clear instructions that they are only touch those objects with the assistance of an adult. Saws, boards with nails, lawn equipment, etc. could be very enticing for obstacle course building.

Mulling over the idea for a minute, L stood chewing on her lip considering the possibilities. A moment later though she gave me a doubtful look.

"Ok, I'll try it. I don't think it will actually be fun but if you're not going to let me play wii..." her voice trailed off.

"Let me know when you're ready for us, I can't wait to run your course."

A short while later, maybe 45 minutes or so, an excited little girl bounded into the house.

"I'm ready! It's ready! I just did it and it is so much fun!" She could barely catch her breath, bouncing up and down and gesturing to outside.

"All right!" I said. "Let's get everyone and give it a try!"

We rounded up the family and invaded our front yard. L explained the course, walking through it herself and giggling with delight at some of her ingenious challenges. There were a few elements that would have been tough to accomplish or possibly dangerous for those that were either smaller or larger than she so we discussed and agreed upon some modifications. There was a balance beam of two reclaimed fence rails I had still around from an art piece, jumping on, yes on, not over, Coke cans she grabbed from the recycling (yes, sometimes we drink soda, I know, I know!), running with one foot in a bucket, racing holding a ball between your knees, running to the finish line (a jump rope held up) holding a branch sticking out like a tail, and a few other funny tasks as part of the course. Everyone took a turn running it to the cheers of the rest of the family. It didn't matter who got the best time, we just had a blast. All of us thanked L for sharing her creation with us and after Jeremy and I went inside to finish the last of our dinner preparations, the girls continued to run the course and make alterations, constantly improving and devising knew challenges right up until we called for them to clean it up and come in to dinner. All through dinner we laughed as we reminisced about our Olympian feats of front yard athleticism. Plans were soon afoot for the next obstacle course to be built.

This has now become one of our favorite family activities. Since the first one we've had to toss crunched cans into a pitcher (one actually got in!), bounce on a ball a few feet, hop through a swing, balance on a skateboard, kick soccer balls, and more. The girls get very creative in coming up with daring exercises for us to try. Setting up an obstacle course for the family to enjoy together gets more of an enthusiastic response than the weekend chance to watch a movie or play wii. Which is exactly how we like it. Not that they are ready to give up Mario Kart or anything. ;)

Huggz Heal

2010-03-17T12:57:00.000-07:00

I guest posted over here today. This was not an easy post to write for me personally and readers should know there could be triggers for abuse victims. In this particular post I talk about how even loving, devoted parents can slip into patterns of abuse with their children, in fact, I think often that is the case. The abusers rarely are the monsters we'd like to imagine them to be. The truth is, they are usually just like you and me. The danger of teachings by Michael Pearl and his wife Debbie Pearl is just that it is easy for parents seeking to raise their children "right" and to be godly people don't realize just how far it, how far they can go. My family was a part of ATI, then called ATIA or Advanced Training Institute (of America) and my parents really believed they were doing what was right. I believe that later their understanding changed. It is a slippery slope and the intentions are for the best. Unfortunately, that doesn't ensure that the outcome is.

Extreme Spring Cleaning

2010-03-16T22:36:00.001-07:00

Organization and keeping a tidy house are not my strong suits. Or Jeremy's for that matter. Not. At. All. We try, sort of. It just doesn't come easily for me and I struggle to find balance between keeping my house clean and my life organized and, well, everything else. Between homeschooling, writing, working, studying, nursing, bouncing, playing, watching, cooking, knitting, music, laundering, changing, bathing, feeding, etc. I am bound to have dust bunnies multiplying. But it isn't the breeding fuzz that is the real problem. No, it is the clutter. I don't know what to do with it. What to keep, what to toss, what to give away and how the heck to store what stays. It is completely overwhelming. We had a system once. It was a good system. It worked. Granted, I had a part time house cleaner/nanny and only 3 kids, not 5, but it worked! Even after the house cleaner was gone it worked. Until it didn't. Which was after we moved and had another daughter. And now another. Oh, and we added homeschooling in there too. Radically changed our income (as in a lot less). And changed our eating. Changed our toys. Changed our parenting. Shoot, changed just about everything. Except the system.

This week we are doing "Extreme Spring Cleaning" and "Extreme Decluttering/Organizing/Decorating." Attempting to anyway. The need is great and so are the demands. I don't get very far before having to do something so unproductive as nurse, make a meal, change a diaper, lay a toddler down for a nap, supervise some homework, get a snack ready, and so on and so forth. Tuesday was day two of this madness and I think we're all pleasantly surprised to discover we're having fun. Not too surprising I've approached this whole thing without much of a plan. I'm a winger. A fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type, get an idea and go for it, making it up as I go along. In an effort to be somewhat prepared I did check out organization books from the library and got some tips and ideas. The first thing I picked up on was to ditch the books. Ok, not all of them but seriously, do only people that actually LIKE cleaning and organizing write those types of books? I think reading and understanding a French novel would be easier for me than some of those books. What are those writers thinking? If I needed a book like that do you actually think I'd alread speak organizian? If I spoke the language then I wouldn't need your book in the first place. The forward on one book made me sneer: "I've always loved to systemize people's lives, to organize a room and make a meal plan and now I get to share that love with you!" Whatever you over-cheerful freak of nature. Seriously, I'm not looking to love the act of organizing just the result, thanks. The books with pictures help and so do the ones that don't try to get inside my head. I can see how identifying why there is clutter can be helpful but anything that makes me feel worse about it is actually going the opposite direction. Guilt is not helpful. Besides, I know why. Too much stuff, not enough storage, small house, big family, bad habits, and higher priorities. All that adds up to mess. Duh.

Some of the books have had good ideas. I've also used flylady.net (she's weird too, no, I'm not putting shoes on to house clean, thanks.), organizedhome.com has some great tips too and I like her book since in her forward she describes her house as being worse than mine at one point in time so I can get her. Unlike the "love to clean" chic. I don't even know her and I want to slap her. I'm picking from here and there what I think will work for us and then throw it together with my own style and ideas and it is kind of working. The most amazing thing is we're having fun. I find this shocking. We've made charts, teams, games and incentives for all of us. Cheering each other on and setting the timer we're getting more done in 15 minute rushes than we have in 3 hours on a weekend.

With our charts, teams, breaks, relays, challenges, stickers and chocolate we're knocking mess out one square inch at a time. Fun activities such as building an obstacle course from the junk we're getting rid of and pickings from the recycle bin (including cans!) keep us moving, energizing us and keeping it fun. It is a family event all the way around, run an obstacle course, celebrate, do a 15 minute declutter rush, celebrate, bag up stuff to go, celebrate, play wii fit, celebrate, organize yarn, celebrate, you get the idea. Every evening we do something fun. The park, movie night, game night, bake cookies, and dream up decorating ideas for when the clutter is taken care of helps keep us motivated. We're painting and planning, figuring out how to make the most of the little space we have. I'm scouring freecycle for shelving and other helpful pieces to turn the house from mess to best dress. Decluttering freely, I'm following the advice from the books and getting rid of stuff, lots of it even if I think the person who gave it to us will be hurt when they come and visit and they don't see it out. If we don't like it, don't use it, it's broken, isn't our style, etc. then it is out of here.

Our obstacle course

I went through the house this morning and took pictures and seeing it on the computer screen made me see it through different eyes. A big part of the problem is that I don't know HOW to organize, what is the best way to store old school work for record keeping, for example? Particularly since we have very little closets and built in storage. What to do with the arts and crafts? Or the piles of music books that I'm not going to get rid of because we actually do use them. There are plenty of things we don't need but I can't even get to some of it to figure that out. I want to post the pictures and get suggestions from those that have that annoying knack of seeing a mess and turning it into a page from Better Homes and Garden. Those of you with the Martha Stewart touch, want to help? I'll swallow my pride and post my in-progress pics for suggestions if you think you can help.

After the house has gone through it's own version of "Biggest Looser," then comes the real hard part, maintaining. According to those that love to clean and organize, we'll be happier for it. I'm pretty happy right now but wouldn't complain to be happier, I guess. But can those sources really be trusted? Guess we'll see. We're working on figuring out how decluttering and more than the most basic of housework will fit into our routine. But for now, one piece of junk out the door at a time.

To Grow Imaginations- part 1

2010-03-12T06:34:00.000-08:00

A shoe zoomed by my head with a “swoosh” sound effect from my three year old. I looked up from my perch on the couch just in time to see the tiny homemade fairy with crazy yarn hair and a little stuffed giraffe fly by tucked into one of my daughter’s sneakers. The shoe was followed by a wooden toy boat loaded with more homemade fairies and various small wooden animal shapes bobbing along in the air supported by my 5 year old’s arm. Following the boat was yet another shoe, this one sparkly and red from last year’s Dorothy costume for Halloween with more fairies, tiny people and animals tucked inside with my 8 year old daughter providing sound effects. I paused in my reading to see if I could catch the tale being woven with flying shoes, boats, funny fairies, and wooden animals in the amazing minds of my three daughters. They called back and forth to each other with the voices of fantasy play about a magical land they had to reach before nightfall. Though it was early morning, nightfall was apparently coming quickly judging by the urgency with which they encouraged each other along. I couldn’t catch it all but their land of fantasy sounded truly fascinating.

Like most parents, we’ve experienced the fun of picking out just the right toys for our children for holidays and birthdays only to have our youngsters captivated by the wrapping paper and boxes over the gifts we selected for them. At first I was slightly hurt by their apparent lack of appreciation of all that I went through to find the perfect gift, hide it and then wrap it up for them. Actually, they did seem to appreciate that last part a bit but the toy itself was profoundly neglected in favor of the packaging they had ripped apart. Eventually my disappointment gave way to rationalizing their choice, they were so young and when everything was cleaned up they could see and play with the toy properly. Besides, when they got older their appreciation and anticipation of the gift inside the packaging would grow. I told myself that for quite sometime.

With three children close in age it didn’t take long for the toys to begin pilling up and still the boxes and wrapping paper were the best part. We began to assess the situation of trying to keep the toys caroled and I noticed that I was less than thrilled with them myself. Not just because they were regularly under foot and actually not played with that often but because most of them were an ugly nuisance. The colors seemed tacky, the beeps and whirls down right irritating, the music out of tune, and they seemed to rob my children of something that I couldn’t put my finger on. It didn’t help that there were just so many of them! I was overwhelmed with the shear amount of toys available, how to pick which one to play with at any given moment? Did they even matter any more? One thing was certain, the toys were in the way of our lives but I wasn’t sure how or why.

Controversy in Conversation

2010-03-10T16:12:00.000-08:00

I participated in a conversation happening over at this blog about a controversial piece the gallery decided to pull from the same exhibit I am participating in. Your thoughts are valued, please view and share.

Stages of a Station, the Art of Art part 2

2010-03-09T20:15:00.000-08:00

The second part of the piece was the actual photographs. This Stations of the Cross exhibit is also a part of Fotofest, an art event that takes place every other year. Not having a camera of the caliber I'd like for something like this, I borrowed my friend Jack's camera and set about a-clicking. I could explain the concept behind these images but I'm not going to do that just yet. Your comments on these would be greatly appreciated. Please note that I know I am not a photographer, in fact, I'm not sure I'm an artist but I do kind of have an artistic eye. I had a great time taking these images and they all feature Cosette at almost 5 weeks old.

The following three images are used in the piece and were taken by Linda Dybala at Cosette's birth.

I intend to share more images from these sessions but these are the ones that are a part of the piece.

From the School Room

2010-03-08T06:43:00.000-08:00

The Danger at Sea
by Ophélia Martin-Weber
Writing and Literature, 5/6

Me and my friends are fishermen
And we had to leave our women
We will go out into the sea
And see what we can see.
I said goodbye to my wife, Mrs. Ownby
She's pretty as a bee
This story is about me
And I want to tell it to Thee.

When in the great sapphire sea we sail
And meet the dangerous Great Blue Whale
His one and only wish
Is not to eat a single fish,
He'll only eat the floating plankton
And still he weighs an amazing ton!

He rose at last from the ocean floor
His tail then hit our great strong oars.
It made us fall out of our boat
And we tried hard to stay afloat
Above the water was my head to chin
Struggling in the big ocean.

It felt just like an enormous whip
When his mighty tail broke our little ship!
My good and trusted friend named Bill
Was too struggling with a chill;
Oh, I only have one wish,
That nothing will eat us like a fish!

Later that day, it started to rain
Pondering on us, oh what pain!
I asked God to stop the mountainous waves
To rescue us and keep us safe
In the water I was crying
To stay above the water, trying.

Across the sea my dear Ownby,
Crying as much as she can be.
She never listened because she covered her ears
Her cheeks are red from her sweet sad tears,
On her knees her friends saw with their eyes,
Hiccuping and wailing with all her cries!

Here lost in the ocean
My head in the water to my chin.
My good friend died, oh Bill!
That gave myself a dreadful chill.
Then I saw a shark with his gills
Then I was gone, for I was killed.

Life Otherwise

2010-03-07T21:50:00.000-08:00

There has been a lot going on. Just like you can feel the buzz in Houston of the earth gearing up for spring, our family has been shifting gears as well. Our nature table has been sorely neglected over the past several months but this undercurrent of change pulls me to do some spring cleaning, to set-up our nature table and to spend more time outdoors.

The girls must be feeling this too. I hadn't planned to do a garden this season, too busy tending to my newest little sapling but today the big girls surprised me and brought out the shovels, hoes and rakes and began turning the garden. It is late in the season but seeing as winter was colder and longer than normal for Houston, perhaps, with a little help from indoor starts and grow lights, we can get the garden going after all.

Helena has taken to mothering her new doll and they explore outside together building forts, climbing trees and going for bike rides. The doll is from Nova naturals fair trade line and the carrier is from Sweet Slings in a Dick and Jane print, Helena's favorite read these days.

The skies entice us to just be.

Sunny skies and mild temperatures beckon to us and our school room moved outside several times this past week. The refreshing breezes inspired poems, fairy house construction, tree climbing, nature observations and adventurous spirits trying new ideas.

My spot:And sleeping next to me...

I even pulled out my sewing machine and cut into some fabric I just love for a simple skirt for Helena's birthday.

It fit me. Had to alter it to fit her before we left for lunch and fancy cupcakes.

Ophélia has given cooking and baking more of a try creating delicious meals (she is specializing in breakfast right now) that we enjoy. The chemistry opportunities afforded in the kitchen are so yummy!

Emerging from our cocoon, we're looking forward to spring.

Weekend WIP, slow going

2010-03-06T10:07:00.001-08:00

Knitting is slow going these days. Time, interest, energy, etc. are lacking and sometimes I just plain forget to knit when I do have the time. I made it all the way through Tuesday night's LOST, Thursday night's Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice, and a movie (The Fountain, I don't recommend it, found it very boring but maybe I'm just too sleep deprived to appreciate it) and never picked up my knitting. I didn't even think to until they were over.

So my WIPs really are just a Karius (Stockinknit stitch Bac ktus) and a pair of socks that I should have finished ages ago. There are a few FO (but I don't have pics) and a few hibernating works but I'm just not really doing a lot of knitting these days.

The slow-going Karius:

I made sure to put the yarn label some place where I could find it easily. I can't find it. It is sea-silk sock yarn, hand dyed by Selah/Becoming Art. Evidently I have a thing for torturing myself with knitting tiny yarn on tiny needles. The relaxing knitting every mom with a newborn and 4 other children needs. Why do I do these things to myself?

Further proof of my slightly masochistic knitting desires, socks. Socks that should have taken me 4 days. We're going on 4 weeks. For the first sock. I almost knit two at a time on circular needles but I didn't have two pair circular needles in size 2 anyway. So, to increase my knitting pain/pleasure, I'm using #2 dpns doing one sock at a time! Yay me! About to turn the heel. Using superwash wool/bamboo blend from Sensations' Bamboo and Ewe pattern line of self-striping yarn in purples and grays. I like it a lot.

Evangeline finally put the hat, scarf and mitten set all on at the same time on a lovely spring day. I bet she's going to love the set come July and won't let me take it off her in August. Just like she refused the scarf and hat when we were in Colorado in November and it was 20 degrees. I don't think E has a future as a weather girl. Watching her try to eat an apple with mittens on was incredibly entertaining.

There just isn't much happening on the needles right now. I do knit something every day, even if it is just a row. There are just so many other types of WIPs going on right now and my arms are very often full making knitting difficult if not impossible.

Exactly Like Me

2010-03-04T15:08:00.000-08:00

Ophélia, age 11.

(I wrote this several years ago and haven't done anything with it. The story is true and the lesson I learned is one I'm still working on everyday.)

"Get that thing away from me!" I shrieked. My then 8 year old Ophélia giggled and backed up a bit.

“Isn’t he cool?” She asked with an awe-struck grin on her face.

“If you say so.” I said, barely hiding my disgust, not wanting to send her the wrong message. Oh the irony.

“Look at its beautiful thorax mommy!” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious, but only almost.

I dutifully examined the dragonfly she was holding admitting that the colors on its thorax were quite beautiful and the translucent wings stunning, if you like that sort of thing. Less than enthralled personally I forced myself to connect with my daughter by actively engaging with her object of interest. Gross though it may be. I couldn’t help but be surprised that she even knew the terminology, I only remember the terms from her many explanations and sharing passages from her books. Though as a family we strive to live gently and without violence in peace with nature, this whole fascination was completely beyond me.

There was a time when I dreamed about my little girl growing up and wanting to be just like me. I thought there could be no greater compliment than to have a child that thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I dreamed of this utopia for my daughter and I where we agreed on everything and saw eye to eye on each and every topic. Having a daughter would be so wonderful, she would be just like me! Secretly I worried that she wouldn't want to be anything like me and I wouldn’t know how to relate to this child of mine.

I hate bugs. For as long as I can remember I have loathed any kind of creature that could fall into the category of “bug.” Insect, arachnid, crustacean (though admittedly, I wasn’t opposed to eating some of those), worm, and others were all on my “EWWWW, gross!” list. Snakes weren’t too bad and I could tolerate lizards too as long as they weren’t touching me but if a flying creature that lacked feathers came near me, screaming would soon commence. I don’t really even like butterflies.

It wasn’t for lack of exposure as a child, I grew up in Florida after all. There are creepy crawly creatures there of impressive proportions and I encountered them quite often. The tropical climate of central Florida was a haven for beasties that wouldn’t survive in colder settings, many of them made their home around my home if not in it. My mother wasn’t a fan of these things either, working diligently to rid her lovely home of them and as far as I can remember my brother and sister didn’t exactly cheer the varmints on. However, nobody harbored the deep-seeded fear of bugs as much as I did. Perhaps it was this fact and it’s exploitation that perpetuated this fear into my adult life. My father didn’t seem to mind the presence of most bugs but he dutifully fulfilled his squashing, bug-riding duties when called upon by my mother. If I called him though he seemed to take a momentary delight in my frozen terror of whatever critter had crossed my path. My childhood is filled with memories of terror stricken bug encounters. One such memory happened on a rare evening of pleasant weather when my family was outside to enjoy a meal on our back porch. Apparently my family had learned my bug cries by this point as my shrieking reaction to spotting a large palmetto bug (AKA: American cockroach) on the wall was greeted with an exasperated “now what?” attitude. My mother came to soothe me, calling my dad over and I backed as far away from the wall as I could to watch the destruction of this intruder by my capable father. With one slight flick of my father’s wrist the details of the evening right down to the clothes I was wearing were forever embossed on my mind. Reaching to remove the bug that was a fairly safe distance from me my father casually rocketed the offender off the wall and right onto the chest of my royal blue velour sweatshirt. To this day there are no words for the fear that gripped me. The thing had seemed huge on the wall but now, looking down eye to eye with it I realized that it was in fact enormous. I screamed. It tried to fly away but to my further horror the prickly and sticky hairs on its legs that allowed it to crawl on the wall and ceiling caused it to be stuck in the velour. Antennae twitching, wings beating, the hideous thing began to move, towards my face. Yes, I was going to die. Though it seemed I jumped up and down in hysterics for an eternity in my 10-year-old mind, it couldn’t have been but a few seconds before my mother’s yells squelched my father’s laughter and I felt his large hand grab my shoulder and he plucked the roach off my chest. Nine years later I moved to Chicago where I heard bugs were of a more reasonable size and considered it a safe environment to begin a family.

I could be wrong, but perhaps memories like this one and others are at the root of my deep and abiding fear of bugs. I was never attracted to men that thought bugs and such were “cool” and I married a man that holds a strong dislike for bugs though he is capable of eliminating them so I wouldn’t have to if we encountered any in our life together. After our daughter began to walk my husband and I decided we would attempt to protect our daughter from our irrational fear of the creepy-crawlies and actually encouraged her interest in them. This wasn’t easy but we were certain that it must be healthier. Years later I question that decision.

The truth is, my daughter loves bugs. Living in Houston now, she has an endless supply of research opportunities within our own backyard and sometimes, even inside. A budding entomologist, her room is decorated with bugs: model ones she made, decorations from a bug themed party (where the party goers made bug boxes and took home live crickets), habitats for the critters, books, specimens and her drawings. One Halloween she dressed-up as an Entomologist and convinced her sisters to costume themselves as bugs. For birthdays and Christmas she asks for more bug paraphernalia without fail including live specimens to raise. She has raised and cared for worms, caterpillars, butterflies, moths, dragonflies, rolly-pollies, grasshoppers, praying mantids, ants and there would have been more if I had let her. As I write this there is a family of Walking Sticks crawling around a habitat in her room. I can’t understand how she is even able to sleep with the things in there but she is quite happy with her arrangement. I no longer hide my distaste for such critters and she handles it well. We are two different people after all and this fact doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She catches tadpoles and baby frogs, names the earthworms in our garden and compost pile, picks up the grubs or other yuckies for me when we are gardening, and rescues insects and spiders from certain doom if found inside. Because of her fascination with insects we have all had to become educated as to the possible dangerous ones to be sure she doesn’t handle those but I have no doubt that she will one day be begging me for a big hairy spider (not an insect, I know) to live in her room. I’m just grateful we’re not at that point yet.

This isn’t the only area where my daughter and I show our individuality but it is perhaps the most pronounced at the moment. Our preference in style of dress is distinct already, her culinary tastes reflect not only her age but also her separateness, and her athletic prowess comes from someone other than myself. We share enjoyment of several areas as well, reading, music, and growing things but there is no doubt that she is her own person. I hate bugs, she loves them. When she was tiny I imagined all the things I would teach her and the ways we would grow to spend time enjoying the same things and there are many ways that we do. I never imagined her tiny fingers being the ones to rescue me from a stare down with a bug that I was terrified of yet this is exactly what has happened. She laughs at my squeaks and yells about the bugs in our lives and I promise to hug her after saving me as long as she washed her hands first. At first I was disappointed that there were interests we didn’t really share and I was confused by her attention to subjects I couldn’t stand. In time however, I have learned to appreciate her diversity and invest myself in learning more about what piqued her curiosity. This mysterious child bears my resemblance and is involved in a host of subjects I find intriguing but at the same time she has established herself as a unique individual developing and refining her own personhood. When it comes to bugs, she has left me far behind and I couldn’t be more proud.

The poor dragonfly she showed me that day didn’t have long to live due to its severe injury but I encouraged her from a distance in her care for the creature. I admired the iridescent blues and greens on its back and examined its compound eyes through her magnifying glass. After it died, though I didn’t touch it, I helped her display her new specimen in her collection, he really is the perfect addition. Weeks later I’ve helped her care for the Walking Sticks and hugged her today when she discovered one of them dead. I don’t know what will be living in her room next but as long as it’s not poisonous or dangerous in any other way I will support her, though I may not go in there for a while. We may not see eye to eye on the bug thing but I’m grateful that she’s not exactly like me after all.

Seven times around the sun

2010-03-04T12:54:00.000-08:00

Helena turned 7 yesterday. These years have flown by and been filled with imagination and wonder. We are a blessed family to be touched by Helena every day.

From mommy and daddy, a new doll and the celebration cupcake.

We celebrated with a friend and her mom by going out for lunch at La Madeline's and then to Sugarbaby's cupcake boutique for cupcakes and tea.

Cosette didn't get any cupcakes but she did enjoy a nap.

Always a lady.

Happy birthday, my little Christ Light. I have enjoyed your 7 times around the sun.

Stages of a Station, the Art of Art part 1b

2010-03-02T22:29:00.001-08:00

I started sharing the process of creating the piece I was asked to contribute to Xnihillo Gallery's Station of the Cross exhibit here. My brilliant and talented friend, Jack took some photos of my belly cast for me. I'm not sure what I'm doing with the cast when the show is done but I'm thinking one of these images will be framed and hanging on my wall for "cool" factor alone.

When the cast had hardened enough to remove it from the frame (my body) we placed it belly side down to finish curing. Now, if you decide to make a plaster cast of your shape I have a bit of advice to give you: load on the petroleum jelly. When you think you have enough, add more. If you think you've covered enough of the area, add another inch. I think I did pretty well, actually but there were a few spots where I could have used more Vaseline and OH. MY. FREAKIN. CRAP. My eyes sting just thinking about it and so do other parts of my body. Trust me. Lots and lots and lots of petroleum jelly, you won't regret using too much, you will regret not using enough.

The plan was for it to rest for 3 days and then I'd start working on preparing it for what was to come. But then I had a baby in three days and, well, it sat for 3 weeks before I did anything with it. Another talented and brilliant friend, Linda, came and did our labor and birth photography.

(Those are my hands. Sweet, right?!)

Before the cast could be really used for the piece, I had to reinforce it with a few more layers of the plaster cloth so the girls and I pulled out the supplies and set to work. Everyone got in on the action. You can't tell from these phone pics (Thanks O and L for taking them for me!) but tiny, newborn C is off to the side in her bouncy seat being bounced with my foot when these shots were taken.

We did the additional layers in three stages. The next part of the plan was to sand the cast smooth, get the photo images we needed, have them printed on canvas and then wrap the form in strips of cloth and the photos. It completely changed though and the cast remains pretty much the same in the finished piece thanks to my friend Jack convincing me that the cast was beautiful without doing anything to it. I cleaned up a few spots with sandpaper but left it as is.

More on the process later.

Brought to you by the color orange: Butternut Squash Lasagna

2010-03-02T20:44:00.000-08:00

Dinner. I like food.

I'm not sure how this happens but every once in a while it seems like everything in a certain meal or the main course of all the meals for a day end up being the same color. Today our menu was brought to you by the color orange and by the color yellow, green made a guest appearance as usual though. Breakfast: egg sandwiches; Lunch: carrot and daikon radish salad; Dinner: butternut squash lasagna; Snack: clementine. The only way it could have been more perfect would have been to have a golden delicious apple for another snack. Oh, but I am having popcorn as I type this for a late night snack! That has some yellow/orange in it. Cool.

Anyway, I checked out several recipes for butternut squash and other similar recipes and created my own. I've made it before and the recipe I'm writing down now is a based more on the last one I made and not this one as I had to change it based on what I had available and time constraints.

Ingredients:

Enough lasagna noodles for a 9x13 pan, cooked (I like whole wheat)

White pasta sauce (my favorite is my own creamy pesto sauce), 24oz or so.

1 medium butternut squash, seeded and sliced and lightly roasted

1 16oz container of ricotta cheese

16oz of mozzarella cheese, shredded

1 cup walnuts, chopped

fistful of fresh basil leaves

1 tsp oregano

1 tsp cinnamon

2 tablespoons brown sugar

salt and pepper to taste

Run squash through the food processor, mix squash and chopped nuts together with basil and oregano in large bowl. Set aside.

Mix ricotta cheese, cinnamon, brown sugar, salt and pepper in small bowl.

Starting with a thin layer of sauce, alternate layering the lasagna noodles, cheese mixture, squash mixture, and the shredded cheese topping it all with shredded cheese and extra nuts if desired.

Bake for 45 minutes, if possible, test the squash for tenderness.

Substitutes this time due to time and what I had on hand: Ritoni pasta (whole wheat) instead of lasagna. Jarred alfredo/three cheese pasta sauce (not as good, I think but time was short), dried basil instead of fresh, so sad. Please pardon the phone pics, I need new batteries for the better camera.

Woman Uncensored

2010-03-02T06:29:00.000-08:00

A couple of months ago I stumbled across a blog with a very outspoken few posts. It was a new blog, there were only a few posts. I ended up going back a few times and started following her blog and facebook. I love her frank, tell-it-how-I-see-it style and gutsy way of taking on issues and the conversation her posts often generate. So I was really honored when I was asked to be a guest blogger on her blog.

The recent death of Lydia Schatz from child abuse got me thinking. This particular case is extreme but it still triggered questions and memories from my past and made me reevaluate our discipline decisions. I believe that her parents were convinced they were doing right by their children. They were taught be "experts" that this was what they should do, for the child's good. They put those experts words and advice over their daughter's cries. This to have a happy household. Externally everyone thought they were happy. Odd how often that happens, abused children in what looks like the perfect family, everyone looks very happy and well-behaved. Jeremy and I have been reminded to put listening to our children, to allowing them and God show us what they need. Yes, I'm sure our past baggage factors in there as well but then, shouldn't our past experiences be a part of educating the decisions we make now? To be honest, I have a hard time wrapping my brain around hitting a child being a means of communicating love and concern for someone's well being no matter how controlled the hitting or even how rare. The blog post I wrote for Woman Uncensored is bit of our journey regarding discipline. I'm so honored to be asked to share. Check it out.

Crap, that's a lot of Diapers

2010-03-01T18:14:00.000-08:00

So just after creating a post showing the creation of a belly cast for an art piece I talk about diapers?

Yeah, that's right, I do. There are a lot of diapers around here these days. And, I'm admittedly proud to say, not one of them is going into a landfill. Nope, these beauties get used and reused. Which means that's a lot of laundry. With two in diapers it is also a lot of crap because that is a lot of diapers. Sometimes they get folded, often, they don't which really isn't a big deal because we'll have to do another load tomorrow anyway. Rinse, wash, rinse, dry, repeat.

Love cloth!

Stages of a station, the Art of Art part 1

2010-03-01T12:41:00.000-08:00

Several months ago I was asked to participate in an art exhibit of the Stations of the Cross/Fotofest for Xnihilo Gallery. The station I was given to create a piece of art depicting or interpreting was Station 4, Jesus Meets His Mother. In a moment that can only be explained as a complete departure from reality as I'm not an artist and certainly not a photographer, I said yes. What in the world was I thinking? It must have been the pregnancy, certainly in my non-gestational state of mind I would never have said yes.

I spent a good amount of time dreaming up my piece before reality caught up with me and by the time I realized that this wasn't such a good idea it was too late for me to back out. So with a concept in mind Jeremy and I worked out how the piece could work. Though photography was required for the show it didn't have to be the only medium.

My pregnancy carried quite the influence on me as I thought the piece and eventually became the canvas we would use to build the rest of the work on. On Christmas Eve, 3 days before I went into labor at almost 37 weeks, Jeremy and I made a cast of my torso. We had hoped to make 2 or 3 of these but it turns out we did well to get the one.

The process was simple, Vaseline all over the area we would be making a cast of, a large roll of plaster cloth, a container of warm water, a vinyl table cloth for the floor and towels. It didn't take as long as we expected and, true to the directions on the plaster cloth, it dried very fast. Watching the original Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, we got to work. Me sitting naked in the living room while Jeremy smoothed slimy, wet pieces of the plaster cloth on my torso might sound exciting but it really wasn't as sexy as one might think.

The strips were drying so quickly, Jeremy had to work fast. I snapped as many pictures as I could while trying to remain still. As you can see the pics didn't turn out so well!

In order to make my belly look a little bigger and to be sure the plaster didn't end up all over my dinning room chair, I leaned back in the chair with just my rear and the top of my back touching the chair making for an uncomfortable and long 30 minutes while we waited for the plaster to set so it wouldn't crush when we removed the cast.

I'll be posting more photos of the progress of the piece over this next week. The belly cast was a great experience and I love it, very glad we made one, it turned out beautifully.

One long exhale

2010-02-25T17:18:00.000-08:00

In Waldorf pedagogy they place an important emphasis on in-breath and out-breath in the rhythm of the day. This is a practice I love. Practicing a balance of work, learning, creativity, play, rest, etc. helps us to avoid stress and being bogged down. Echoing the rhythm of the earth (seasons, day to night, etc.) our family flourishes best when Jeremy and I hold these basic, though flexible, daily beats. It also keeps us a little more sane.

This is so not happening right now and I really, really miss it. I keep telling myself that this is another part of the rhythm of our life and I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it is. But it feels rather like chaos. Coming off months of being sick and struggling to keep food in, I haven't found the rhythm of preparing meals and having anything ready for meal time, in fact, I'm out of touch as to when meal time is! PB&J to the rescue. That wouldn't be so bad except my kids survived the last 10 months on the same category of food broken only when Jeremy found the time in split seconds between his job, helping to home school, and taking care of me to fit in grocery shopping and cooking. I know things will improve as I recover and we all adjust to the new person in our family. Right after the birth we had 4 blissful weeks of meals being brought to us by friends from church and our homeschool programs, this lifesaver insured that our dear children didn’t really eat PB&J for every meal. Another week my mom was here and cooked , ensuring PB&J wasn't the only option available. I'm starting to find my groove with meals though I have a long way to go, I struggle to even remember what some of our favorite foods are.

School, household care and just general life has suffered as well. Out of desperation for reclaiming control it is tempting to create a strict schedule that we all follow religiously but that would be just as oppressive for me. Routines and rhythms I can do, schedules stress me out. Valuing creativity, flexibility and creativity as I do anything more than a fluid rhythm to our day stifles me and brings out the control monster within me. We have been surviving for a long time now on the very bare bones of a basic routine.

Eight weeks after adding a new person to our family, eight weeks after shedding the regular nausea, vomiting and fatigue of an hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancy I'm trying to find our rhythm. The song is different now, we've added an infant, a whole other person and we have a toddler that is adjusting to no longer being the baby. We all are adjusting. Instead of putting us on a controlled schedule I decided in a stressful moment to bring back something that used to be a regular part of our day: circle time. Though I had planned on getting us going earlier in the morning and circle time being the start of a grand school day I had also planned on getting significantly more sleep than I did thanks to a sick toddler and a newborn nursing every two hours and immediately rolled with my desire to be flexible by sleeping in until 9.30. By the time everything was taken care of it was much later than I had intended when we got to circle time. We didn't fill our circle time with too much, just a poem, a little flute playing, singing some songs, swinging on the swing, laying back and looking up at the sky, noticing the new leaves starting on our Ash tree, spotted a few bird nests, talking about whatever and reading a fairy tale. It was peaceful. It was simple. It was refreshing. We were together and we just soaked in the togetherness and peace. I don't know what our new rhythm is really going to look like but I'm looking forward to seeing it shape up and holding that for our family again. I do know that this time today will be a regular part of it and of high value. The months of the pregnancy were valuable and precious. The 8 weeks since Cosette's birth were neccessary and special. I wouldn't trade any of it. In some ways it has been a huge in-breath at the same time as being an out-breath. Change can be that way. Today we had one long exhale and look forward to breathing in rhythm together again.

Rambling

2010-02-23T13:13:00.000-08:00

I censor myself. I do. And while sometimes I know that is a good thing (certain things just don't need to be said in certain places or in certain company) sometimes I'm frustrated by it. People think they know me and even though I certainly don't come across as holding back I often am. Such a delicate balance between being respectful, having tact, communicating love, grace, compassion and being yourself. Myself is not necessarily gentle. Most of the time I'm ok with it, with putting my filters in place and not letting every blasted thing that enters my head out of my mouth, I recognize that sometimes you can catch more flies with honey and that showing grace and love is more important than convincing someone that you are right and they are wrong. I live by this. Most of the time.

But some times I don't want to. Sometimes I want to let it all hang out. I consider doing that here but then I worry that I'll regret it, that I'll get in trouble some how. Or I'd lose friends or offend supporters. And my family reads my blog sometimes. Yeah, if I let it all hang out it could get really uncomfortable. Jeremy hears it all and he's really cool with that and I hear it all from him too. That helps, I think I'd go crazy if I didn't have that. Hopefully, he's not going crazy because of it but we seem ok. Sometimes I consider starting a secret blog, one where I would have a secret identity and, well, not invite people I know in real life to read it.

This rambling is over, for now. Time for free pancakes at IHOP.

On the Inside

2010-02-21T11:43:00.000-08:00

*sigh*

I've started numerous blog posts in the last few weeks but they don't get finished before I get pulled away for some reason or another. With 5 kids, one of which is a newborn, I shouldn't be too surprised. There goes one New Year's non-resolution. Oh wait, the post I had intended to share here on that was never finished or posted so none of my readers (that have probably stopped reading and have considered calling the police to check on me) will understand the reference, it's just in my head. Like soooooo many other things. At the moment I'm typing one-handed.

I'm posting to try and get my mojo back. If you're looking for something profound, this post will let you down. Mindless entertainment and time killer? Here you go.

Today, while bathing the two little ones (ages 2 years and 8 weeks, how did THAT happen?) I was interrupted by an 8 year old that thought my presence in resolving an issue with her younger sister was immediately required. The following conversation transpired.

L: (from outside the closed bathroom door) Mommy, come now, I need you!

Me: What's wrong?

L: (Hysterically) We need you!

Me: Is everything ok?

L: NO!

Me: Is someone hurt?

L: YES! (crying)

Me: Are they dying?

L: (disappointed) No.

Me: Are they breathing?

L: (quieter) Yes.

Me: Are they bleeding?

L: (Loudly and with tears) I'm bleeding on the inside! (sob)

Oh, she's good. She's really, really good.

NIP not WIP today.

2010-01-11T09:27:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I'm nursing a new baby again which is... hard. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of nursing, it is good for mom and baby but I'm not going to sugar coat things and tell you how easy it as first, not even for a 5th time mom. C is cute, adorable and absolutely precious and as true as these things are every two hours or so I have to grab a glass of water, pull out my leaky boobs practice breathing techniques I don't even use for pushing in labor, and willingly let my baby suck on my sore nipples. Her perfectly sweet mouth is transformed into a device of torture, a pit of barbed wire churning around my tatas. Experts will tell you that it shouldn't hurt, that if there is pain it is because of a poor latch and can be corrected with proper positioning and getting the baby to get on the breast correctly and I've told women this as well. For the most part, I think that is true but there are times when mom and baby just can't get it worked out for a few weeks and for them it just isn't all rainbows and butterflies. This is me and C, the combination of my rather large nipples (TMI? Then don't read) and her tiny mouth plus this thing she has against putting her tongue forward have all combined to make this a difficult and painful two weeks of nursing so far.

But we'll get there. I had one other baby that gave me cracked and bleeding nipples and eventually we made it through and nursing became a bonding experience for us, special and easy so I have confidence that C and I can make it there too. When we do I'll be nursing her anywhere she needs to eat (for the torture sessions I prefer to remain at home at the moment) and doing so unapologeticly. Even in church. Since I believe that God made me to nurse my baby I'm not about to leave and go nurse somewhere else when we're there to worship- boobies nursing babies aren't a shock to God and if they are to the people around me, well, they are free to turn their attention back to God and leave me and my baby alone. Most of the time I won't be covering up and if I choose to do so it will be very special circumstances. I don't cover up for my dad, don't cover at church, don't cover around our friends... in fact, I can't think of such a special circumstance, interesting. I've heard all the arguments in favor of covering up but seeing as I believe breasts are for nursing babies and anything else is just a bonus I don't see me changing. Any man that is turned on (or grossed out) by a baby being fed has issues, that's all I'm saying.

And because I have a baby crying, a 6 year old needing some direction, a 2 year old needing a diaper change, an 8 year old "doing homework" that needs supervision, an 11 year old freaking out about a Greek test tomorrow, dinner that needs to be warmed up (thank goodness it is cooked thanks to wonderful friends!), a house in dire need of cleaning, laundry that needs to be folded and put away, dishes that need to be done, and a new lace pattern to try on that sweater, etc. I'm going to go now and just say: read this. She's obviously not as tired as I am and said it all so much better.

I wrote more about nursing in this post and now have a whole blog dedicated to nursing. A breastfeeding pub to support and encourage breastfeeding. We have lots of fun, share stories, give information, run an occasional contest and have give-aways. Visit The Leaky Boob for more!

Turning 2

2010-01-10T19:06:00.000-08:00

Licking bright blue cancer-causing food coloring laden icing off a store-bought cupcake with a paper Winni the Pooh on a stick, Evangeline grinned at everyone around her and said "goon day." Thankfully, she has low expectations and eating crap cupcakes surrounded by her family counts as a good day. Granted, the child picks her nose and eats it and tells me it is good so perhaps the bar is just really, really low. I haven't showered today and our door was like the revolving doors of Saks 5th Avenue the week of Christmas. There were more people over at our place in one day than I saw for months at a time during my pregnancy. But Evangeline really didn't seem to care. She had a great time playing with her sisters, watching Winni the Pooh, and doing massive carb loading through out the day because I was too exhausted to try to get her to eat anything with more nutritional value than pretzels, cereal and apples. The friends here visiting looked at us with a mixture of concern and disbelief when we gave Evangeline one of her gifts (the others are waiting until the small celebration we are having for her next week which is just an excuse to buy me more time to wrap them), they just couldn't understand how a child-size broom was a worthy birthday gift. I think they thought we were setting her up to join in with the work around the house. She actually LIKES sweeping! I don't think they bought it. E was excited though and I'm not just saying that. I promise, a broom isn't her only gift. By my standards today was a pretty lame birthday but she seemed to enjoy it.

Happy 2nd Birthday Evangeline! We love you and are so glad you are a part of our family.

Weekend WIP, Belated New Year's style

2010-01-09T13:54:00.000-08:00

How we manage to function at all right now. Jeremy and I have God, each other, and coffee. Friends and family too. And more coffee.

While most of the world was ringing in the New Year in their various ways; noisy, quiet, with crowds or just a few, I was sitting on my old IKEA couch watching "Hangover" with Jeremy and alternating complaining about my sore boobs and how tired I was as though these things were a surprise after having my 5th baby. There was knitting sitting next to me but that was a week ago, I forgot which project it was. Sometimes I even picked it up and knit a stitch or two but only if I had both hands free which isn't that often with a newborn around. I was also browsing craft blogs (I can do that one handed), particularly knitting blogs and making smart mouthed comments about the lists of FO that ran on and on. Don't they know nobody likes a show off? So you knit 13 shawls all of lace weight and on size 2 needles? And 24 sweaters, all adult size and nothing more than fingering weight with the exception of that one Noro on worsted? Then there's the spinning and dying you picked up leading to numerous cowls, mittens, scarves, and hats out of hand spun, hand dyed OOAK yarns. Not to mention that 10 new patterns they cranked out, the baby layette set a week for friends of friends having babies, the two pairs of socks per month and all manner of quirky toys, hot pat holders and cozies. What the...? Let me be frank here: You. Have. No. Life. These aren't people, they are knitting zombies. Knitting zombies that make me feel totally inferior and jealous. Blankety-blank zombies. They totally got to me! Those b*tches. (I know, I just said a bad word but I mean it all in the nicest way you can imagine.) All postpartum-y hormonal I decided I'm not going to make a FO list for 2009 because it would make my yarn buying habit look REALLY bad. Besides, I rationalize, I can't remember what I knit in the past year! Seriously, who can remember that? I can't remember what I was knitting last week. Ok, maybe I will this year because now I do strange things like TAKE PICTURES of not just my FO but my WIPs. And blog about them once a week. Holy crap, those knitting zombies HAVE gotten to me! Oooooh! Maybe I'm on my way to being a real knitting zombie too! They annoy me mostly because I'm insanely jealous. My brother reads this blog, I can totally see him shaking his head and laughing his ass off at me. Yes big brother, I know, I'm a total dork, NERD is screaming from every one of my knitting callouses. This is not news, anyone that knows me, really knows me is aware that I am a complete nerd. The point here is that I'm not making a FO list but I am making some New Year's Knitting Goals. I don't want to call them resolutions, to easy to let myself off the hook with "resolution" and it seems like I'd just be following a trend, you know, the trend of making resolutions every New Year? Check the title of the blog. Rebel here, don't do trends. Except maybe a little if I really like the trend and if I can somewhat claim to have started it. Like those people that say "I was drinking espresso before Starbucks was popular." I say "I was knitting before Ravelry was around," and "We cooked with couscous all the time before there was Food Network" and now "I make goals for the New Year, not resolutions." Just call me trendsetter. Or nerd.

I'm still working on my NYKG (New Year Knitting Goals- I'm starting that now so I can claim that I was doing it before it got popular) and ponder these weighty matters often between 3 and 6am every morning when C can't stand the silence of the house in the middle of the night and refuses to sleep. From this place of sleep deprivation I've come up with a few goals so far. I will share them so next year I can come back triumphantly with a FO list worthy of blog gloating. Oh yes, can you smell the faint hint of failure to come already?

NYKG 2010 (this is a WIP)

Knit every day.
Knit socks.
Knit lace.
Knit a shawl/kerchief for myself.
Knit something for everyone in our family.
Keep knitting fun.

That last one is the most important and if any of the other goals make that one difficult then I'll ditch them because knitting isn't my job and doesn't have to be something I suffer through. That defeats the purpose. So there you have it, my NYKG 2010. Sound impressive doesn't it? A bit like Y2K. Because that was so much fun.

So this weekend's WIPs:

I got this book put out by Sterling Publishing during this past year and determined I'd get a lot of use out of it. It hasn't exactly lived up to my expectations but that could be more on me than the book. I'm using it right now for a lace pattern I thought would look adorable on this sweater (heavily modified) for C. in Purewool in Coffee and Creama or is it Chocolate and Creama? Can't remember.

Honestly, I thought I'd have this set finished ages ago. This sweater *should* have taken me an evening, I thought. But in my stroke of postpartum brilliance I decided to use a different lace pattern.So I turned to my book and found this. Instant love. My new baby girl would look precious in this bellflower lace pattern. Never mind that I'm sleep deprived and a grand postpartum mess, a 17 stitch, 15 row lace pattern would be a perfectly reasonable goal with a newborn. K1, nurse, frog 2 rows, K3, YO, change diaper, P2, S1, K1, PSSO, bounce baby to sleep, frog back to start, etc. Oh yeah, lace should be a freakin' piece of cake at this rate.

I could have knit the sweater 3 times over with the number of times I've frogged this lace pattern. I still don't want to admit defeat but I am starting to think that the lacy scallops on the next page of the book would be a better option for this particular sweater. Having done them several times before successfully makes them even more attractive.

When lace is making you crazy because you are far too sleep deprived to keep track of where you are, what is one to do? I need to knit something, I'm comitted to really resting during my postpartum period for the best recovery possible and any of chance of that happening means sitting and laying around can't be boring. Feeling like I'm accomplishing something helps. What to do? Start an easy little gnome for a certain little girl that is turning 2 tomorrow. There will be more of these, they take all of 15 minutes to knit. I need to sew them up, stuff them and knit their hats. Bits and pieces of yarn from my stash, some Lamb's pride, Patons wool, and an unknown colorway I got in a grab-bag of wool scraps make up this one.

Requiring no pattern at all and thus a good knit while I'm nursing I started a simple wash cloth that will have a matching soap sack and a bar of handmade soap for a gift. Peaces and Cream dishcloth cotton in a flecked natural colorway. I liked it a lot and have no idea what I was thinking I would make with it but for $1.48/ball it made me happy to have it in my stash and now will be a perfect gift. Both are FOs now.

A WIP I started in November but has been hibernating since has finally come back out. A wrap/shawl/scarf for me, this is BFL dyed by one of my favorite indie dyers, Elliebelly (no longer stunning the world with her amazing dye work, sadly) in my favorite feel-good colorway ever, crayon. I picked the dummy clap because... it looked easy. People, sometimes you want something that is pretty but easy even if it is boring as all get out to knit.

Remember these? Yeah, so sad that they are still a WIP. They should have been done ages ago. I would feel guilty about it except the child these are intended for refuses to put any mittens on her hands, even to try them on. She also doesn't wear the hat and scarflet that match these mittens. It will be an adorable set that never, ever gets worn. Her hands were red and cold today so I pulled them back out to finish them so she can wear them during this cold snap even though I know she won't actually wear them. I'll just feel better having finished them so she could wear them if she would. Anyway, I'll get pics of the set when the second mitten is finally finished.

This last bit is yarn that I'm dying to have be a WIP. The problem is I don't have needles that deserve to work with it and I haven't found the perfect pattern. I'm going to try out another pattern or make my own but I want this luscious dusty rose silk (by Debbie Bliss) to become this for C. I know it looks kind of peachy in the pic, all my pics have long shadows and golden afternoon light thanks to holding a fussy newborn most of the morning. That fussy newborn would be much happier if I could get this yarn knit up for her, I just know it.

I feel hopeful that I'm already doing pretty well on some of my NYKG 2010, not that I've even thought about intentionally doing any of them at this point. Maybe I'll keep this up, maybe not. Not exactly a knitting zombie yet but I am a postpartum zombie for sure. KEEP KNITTING FUN! (KKF!)

Baby love

2010-01-08T11:16:00.000-08:00

That hat drove me crazy. I'm going to attempt another one, may create my own pattern since this one didn't turn out after 4 different attempts. Too small and a very strange fit. I jammed it on her head for a photo shoot anyway.

Another perspective

2010-01-04T08:39:00.000-08:00

This isn't exactly about my birth story with Cosette but it does include some of our birth story. My good friend Linda attended the birth last week as support and birth photographer. I haven't seen the images yet (she took a lot, I'm sure she's wondering what she was thinking now) but I've seen other samples of her work and I'm sure they are beautiful. What I appreciate about this post though is another perspective entirely and not from camera. I am well aware now as as someone who attends women in birth that there are always several stories happening, not just the birth story from the perspective of the mother. Everyone there, while sharing in the same developing experience, is experiencing their own version of the story coming from their own already in progress narrative. These tales are beautiful to me and getting to hear them, even in small snippets is a gift that those who attended Jeremy and I in our births bless me with when they share. I warn you, this post may make you cry. It took me a few days to find the courage to read it but it was worth it. I hope you are touched by what she shares there and if you can, take a minute to leave her a comment to thank her for sharing such depth of her soul. I'd also love to hear what you think in the comment section as well.

A week ago today- SROM or the begining of a birth tale.

2010-01-03T18:08:00.000-08:00

There are moments that we mark in red on the calendar of our hearts and minds and quietly observe them on our own when those events are revisited. Some of them are annual, some or monthly, some are weekly, some are precious and beautiful, some are painful and sad, some are a combination. All are important in an intensely personal way.

This was me a week ago today.

A week ago tonight at about 9.30 my bag of waters broke spontaneously as I was crossing the street with Jeremy and Evangeline following dinner with our neighbors, F and J. F had given me a hard time about not having my water break while we were there and I started having contractions with a little bit of regularity when dinner was over. Having had them off and on all day and the two weeks before, I didn't want to give them more than a passing nod of acknowledgment. I've been down this road before, you see, this could go on for weeks and weeks. We joked and I assured F that my water had never broken before either early in labor or as the first sign of labor. He promised me there's always a first time for everything! And indeed, he was right! Forty-five minutes later we were crossing the street when I felt a small gush of fluid. I wasn't sure right away that SROM had just happened but after a few more steps I told Jeremy my suspicions and by the time we got to the house I was pretty certain that I would get into the bathroom and know for sure. It didn't take long for there to be clear fluid running down my legs requiring a change of clothes. I was definitely ruptured. Contractions sputtered to a stop as I called the midwife to give her the report, I had checked myself (again) that morning (because I could- the danger of knowing just a little too much) and knew I was 75% effaced and 2cm but I hadn't felt the baby move since I ruptured. Because we had a scare not even a week before with low heart tones and I didn't have a doppler at home we made a plan to have a nurse friend come and bring a doppler so we could get heart tones. This was just for peace of mind, for my peace of mind. I felt like she was ok but I wanted to know she was ok. Sue came, bringing a doppler and set to work cleaning my kitchen after we listened to that beautiful swooshing train sound in my belly. Baby V was fine. I had woken up that morning pretty sure this was the day, I've had this with every one of my babies, I've just known when they were going to be born in the next 24 hours. All day long I felt like my body was trying to go into labor but was being held back. My FaceBook status twice reflected it: "Feeling like a car revving the engine" and even less poetic "You-know-what or get off the pot girlfriend. I'm going to dinner now." I couldn't swear on FaceBook for some reason but you all know what I meant. Having seen it before in myself and women I've attended I had a hunch that having my children around was keeping me from kicking into gear and so we planned to pack them up and send them on their way to our friends LKH and EKH where we knew they'd be safe, have fun and we wouldn't need to worry about them and I could get down to the business of birthing a baby.

With the girls gone I worked on getting in touch with Linda as we had planned for her to come and take photos of the labor and birth. Thankfully she checked her Facebook and saw the message I left her since her number was erased from my phone causing me to panic that we wouldn't be able to get a hold of her. She called and headed right out, getting to our place around 11 or maybe midnight. I don't remember because by the time she got there my contractions had indeed decided to get this show on the road and I was in early labor.

There is obviously more to the labor/birth story but I'll leave you with this. A week ago tomorrow I looked like this:

And today, we have this:

These moments are marked in red in the day planner of my heart for several reasons. They mark the beginning of the end of the journey of bring our daughter into the world, they speak of the healing of some very painful moments and relationships along the way, they remind me of dear friends both new and old that journeyed with me, they testify to my personal strength of surviving another HG pregnancy and the agony that caused as well as the labor and birth, they chronicle the love of Jeremy and I birthing together again, they are likely the last of their kind as we feel we are done having children, and they direct the eyes of my heart back to God, the author of it all. Moments such as these deserve the red marker, emblazoning them on my heart's memory forever. I hope you have learned to pause and cherish such moments.

WIP weekend, new baby style

2010-01-03T17:02:00.000-08:00

Poor little Cosette has had a time with jaundice meaning lots and lots of time laying naked in UV light. Our heat has been boosted up considerably and the rest of us feel like it is the middle of summer. Only more dry. A lot more dry. This has given several of us time to sit next to our newest little one and knit or read while keeping her company in the light. I have to say my knitting has slowed down but like my blogging, I promise I have a good reason.

Daddy keeps watch while working on a belated Christmas gift for a friend, another elf hat ornament which is now a FO.

My WIP (one of them and the only one I photographed) has been frogged TWICE since this photo and it is just a simple little baby cap. Driving me crazy. I'm about to frog the body of it again and instead of following the pattern this time I'm going by my gut and see if I can figure out what is wrong. It will be an adorable little pilot style cap when I finally finish it (again) and is part of a set for Miss Cosette. Some of my other WIPs include gifts for the birth team and I'm probably going to cast on another pair of newborn pants just for something easy to knit.

No photos of any other WIPs though O and L both have things going. Jeremy just finished a great pair of pants for E that I'll photograph tomorrow to share, they are simply brilliant and lots of fun.

I've noticed on the blogs of other knitters, those far more prolific than I in their knitting and blogging, making a list of your FOs (finished objects) is the thing to do at the end of the year. Being the rebel that I am, I shan't be doing that. It would be depressing, I can't even remember what I've done and figuring it out sounds like work. So no, there won't be a FO list here. There wouldn't be much on it anyway. Instead, I'll leave you with a bunch of new baby photos.

The Ultimate Excuse

2009-12-30T18:14:00.000-08:00

Cosette Marguerite Constance Martin-Weber
7lbs, 4oz; 19.5 inches
12.28.09, 7. 36 a.m.
Born at home into my hands surrounded by love and peace.

I started several posts over the last week or so. I had planned a post on "Happy Holiday vs. Merry Christmas," one on our Christmas traditions, a few brief update posts, some maternity photo posts, a Christmas activities post, some WIP and a post on procrastination but I kept, er, procrastinating? I have a good excuse now though, sorta.

Moment of Christmas 1

2009-12-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

Moments from Christmas Eve and Christmas day in our house.

The tree and gifts on Christmas morning.

No fire place or mantel, the stockings are hung on a door.

A baby doll in her cradle hanging on the tree for E.

Delicious Christmas Eve salad made by the girls. Festive with cauliflower, basil, oregano, parsley, tomatoes, sprouted sunflower seeds, salt and olive oil.

Hand knit elf hat ornament.

Happy Birthday Jesus!

2009-12-25T12:50:00.000-08:00

I hope your Christmas is full of beauty.

WIP weekend, still sick

2009-12-20T15:14:00.000-08:00

My WIPs greatly slowed down this week, I concentrated on one main project: getting better. Loads of fun that is and if it weren't for the fact that I felt so miserable and my head felt like it was going to explode every time I tried to lift it I would feel terribly unproductive. As I emerge from the snot fog the inkling that I've wasted an entire week laying on my couch blowing through rolls and rolls of TP is starting to be impressed on me. Oh well, it is the last week before Christmas, must wash my hands and get on with it.

So the WIPs I have to share are primarily those of others and there have been a few busy bees around me.

O's been working like crazy, still knitting with pick-up sticks (yes, as in the game) and doing tiny clothing for favorite dolls and stuffed animals. She's enjoyed it just as much as the recipients will love getting them. Not much one to follow a pattern (I have NO idea where she gets that from!), all of these are her own design.

Sorry about the long shadows, the day got away from me before I got to take these in better lighting. Tiny sweater and pants for a tiny stuffed animal. Just need the ends woven in (again, procrastinating on weaving ends in? WHERE did she get that from?)

This is a bag knit with some sock yarn.

I think this is going to be a tiny dress (sock yarn on pick-up-sticks) for a tiny fairy but she just cast on when I asked her to bring them outside for a pic so I'm not real sure.

And a hat ornament for a friend, also knit on pick-up sticks, notice how she coordinated the colors of the sticks with the yarn?

O with all her WIPs for now. She'll finish a bunch of these in the next day or two and start some new ones for sure. She's a busy little elf.

L's FO really, a yarn wreath ornament for a friend. She'll be making several more of these this week including a big one for our front door! Her knitting WIP is still the pink bamboo baby hat, I expect that to continue for a good long while, ha!

H made a similar yarn wreath with some fun yarn which was, well, fun! Also a gift for a friend she did great and will be joining L in making a few more this week.

So this isn't a WIP any more, more of a FO. These are even, one was just more slouched than the other on my model. I need to make a bunch more of these, my girls want some for themselves as well and I think I may want a pair too though not pink. I had just enough of the darker pink (alpaca/silk blend) to finish the second leg and the exact left-overs were just enough to make a bow on them to pack up to send to the special little girl I hope enjoys her leg-warmers and tutu set. I'll be finishing the tutu tonight while we watch The Muppets' Christmas Carol.

This WIP is for V, a wool baby gown. The top is a wool blend, I'm not happy with the sleeves so I'll be frogging those and redoing them. The shoulders lace up with pink ribbon, there is a large satin ribbon to go between the top and bottom, ribbon for the eyelets in the ruffle of the skirt to make a drawstring and if I get around to it, pink flowers to embroider along the skirt. The matching hat and bloomers are already done and the booties should be a quick knit.

Obviously not a WIP yet but likely my next one, just simple, plain longies for V. Tomorrow I'll also be casting on for an iPhone case for a friend's Christmas gift but decided I didn't have any yarn that would really work for her. That sounds impossible considering my stash.

WIP of a different sort, the living room. The yellow base is finished and waiting the glaze to come and red trim but we got slowed down with being sick. Everybody pitched in to help.

Lots more to come, hope you're enjoying your Christmas crafting and other fun projects you've got going on!

The family walk

2009-12-19T18:27:00.000-08:00

If I were up for it...

2009-12-18T20:06:00.001-08:00

I would make some cute Christmas crafts like this and of course loads of knitting, cooking, baking (or watching Jeremy bake since that usually has a better outcome) and crafting. That would be so much more fun than being sick. So. Much. More. Fun.

"Tis the season for snot and coughing...

2009-12-18T18:43:00.000-08:00

So, I’m sick. It started Monday with a little tickle in my throat and nose and by Tuesday it was full blown. I’m really sick of it because it just won't go away and I feel like poop. Actually, snot, I feel like snot, lots and lots of snot. My head, face, teeth, and chest all hurt so bad and when I cough I'm pretty sure my head and lower back are going to blast apart. I may just be spared labor at this rate and get to cough V out. Which reminds me, I'm 36 weeks today, we could go any day now and have a full term, healthy little girl. H was born at 36 weeks exactly, sweet thing gave me an early dismissal. So did L at 37 weeks and a few days. Of course, O and E both went to 41 weeks and 4 days (not that I was obsessively counting or anything and I certainly wasn't saying things like "get out of me you little parasite!" after week 40) which, if you do the math, means I could be saying "any day now!" for the next 6 weeks or so, give or take. That is such an encouraging thought. Back to being sick. I've not been doing much since if I move it hurts, breathing is nearly impossible, my eyes seem to think I've been watching The English Patient, standing and coughing is deadly, and I'm sucking down hot tea like the Boston Tea Party is hitting this weekend. Which also means that I'm floating away and having to pee every 5 minutes because having to pee every 20 minutes wasn't fun enough. Oh, and I smell lovely, shoving Vycks Vapor rub up my nose trying to get a break. Mmmmmm, tasty.

I have had company while sick, everyone is still getting over their crud too, I was the last one to come down with it.
Isn't she cute? That is so totally how I feel right now. She's doing better though her face is pretty much always snot-encrusted lately.

One of my trusty tea mugs the girls made.

Sorry the pics are dark, that's what happens when I'm taking them on the couch, inside with the house all closed up. Today we did venture outside for a walk and Jeremy snapped a few pics of my 36 week belly and I snapped a few of the girls. I'll share more of them later.

Knitting, schooling, all things holiday related, writing, reading, cooking, etc. have all been pretty neglected this week. We got the first step of painting the living room done but then we were all sick so we're in limbo now. The list of things to do is beyond ridiculous and all I still feel like doing is laying on the couching moaning about how miserable I am with a hot compress to my face. Doesn't that sound endearing? Hey, we did watch "Miracle on 34th Street" today, there is some holiday spirit to be found. So what if I slept all the way through it?

WIP Weekend, sick style.

2009-12-13T11:25:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Waldorf Mama (a far more prolific knitter than myself and infinitely more read as a blogger) I've decided to start making a weekly post on my current WIPs (Work In Progress) to share. I may or may not make them weekly though since I go in phases with my knitting, it waxes and wanes depending on my mood and the other things I have going on. Since we got back from France my knitting has been sorely neglected but I've picked it back up this weekend thanks to having sick kids that need me to just sit and cuddle. That and baby has moved pretty low so I feel like I'm holding in a bowling ball. I'm grateful to sit and knit.

So the family's current WIPs. Lots of these are Christmas presents so I can't say too much about them, you know, just in case.

H is working on a finger knitted chain belt and headband set for a gift for someone. I don't know what yarn this is, actually, it was given to us by someone that was someone cleaning out their stash. It is some sort of acrylic rope, she's enjoying working with it. Not my first pick for her since I prefer the girls to use only natural fibers but it is fun and pretty and I know the person lucky enough to get this set will love it too.

L's project has been a WIP for about 3 months now. A simple, soft bamboo baby hat for V. Knitting isn't her favorite thing in the world so she's a little slow going. She enjoys it, for maybe a row or two at a time and then she's off looking for more adventure. This hat may be finished by the time V gets here, we'll have to see.

O's WIP is a tiny pair of wool pants for a beloved toy here. She created the pattern herself but her creativity wasn't limited to the actual design, lacking the DPNs she decided were required for her project, she ransacked the pick-up-sticks game for improvised needles. Worked pretty well too and are very colorful!

As usual, I have several WIPs going at once not to mention the projects that are hibernating until specific projects for Christmas and V are completed or I feel like picking them up again anyway. My wrap is in that pile at the moment but I'm hoping to pick that one back up very soon.

Pair of ballet style leg-warmers, I'm going to need to make several pairs of these, I've had a lot of requests. Thankfully they are easy. I think I'm going to try some in some bulky yarn next, that should be pretty, easy and fast! This particular pair are out of the same fuzzy pink bamboo as L's baby hat and a touch of some Alpaca/silk blend I had left over from another project. Hope to have the pair completed today.

Little pair of mittens that would take me all of half an hour to finish, I just have felt like I've had more pressing matters and projects. If I get sick of the leg-warmers today and need a break I'll finish these otherwise they'll wait until tomorrow. These go with a hat/scarflet set that E refuses to wear. It's really cute though. Made with crazy soft single ply merino wool and alpaca/silk I wish I could get her to keep the scarf and the hat on, we'll see if the mittens fair any better. Her hands get so cold on our bike rides to school programs these days.

I have more WIPs personally but these two are what I'm working on this weekend and planning to finish today. More WIPs and maybe some pics of FO later this week.

While Jeremy does knit and does have a WIP going this is what our afternoon has looked like so far, us girls sitting and knitting while he reads George McDonald's "The Princess and The Goblin" to us. We're soaking in the adventure as things get really exciting now and our needles click away with nervous anticipation. It is a great way to spend a sick weekend, napping, reading, eating soup and knitting. With now 5 out of 6 of us down with fevers, coughs, congestion and all around miserable, this helps pass the time.

The City

2009-12-11T11:15:00.000-08:00

A few observations about Paris, the city. I could have written a book just on this but seeing as that book has been written several times over by better writers I just took a few notes and kept myself busy actually experiencing the city instead of writing about it.

Dirty city. You know, I really don’t think so. I mean, it is a city but not filthy or anything, just normal city mess I’d think, just from my experience of living in Chicago and Houston. They have people cleaning all the time: street cleaners (not just the machine kind either, we’re talking people with brooms!), metro stop cleaners, graffiti scrubbers, etc. The Parisians work hard to keep their city clean and it really seems to work. There are easily accessible trash bins everywhere and often even recycling. The one thing I don’t understand is the dog pooh. Given that I’ve seen dogs regularly relieving themselves on the sidewalks and streets and their owners doing nothing about it, I’d expect there to be more but it obviously gets picked up just not by the people that should be responsible for it. Don’t be fooled though, you do have to watch out for the doggie landmines in your path, they happen often enough.

Unique metro stops. I had no idea that so many of the metro stops had a unique personality reflecting the area of their location. One of the stops near the Bastille has beautiful multi-dimensional art work in the tile depicting scenes from the revolution. One of the Concorde stops has letters all over the walls, one for each tile spelling out different powerful words and sayings. The Abbesses stop on line 6 was breathtaking in more ways than one. With large photographic images of the Montmarte, the area it is located in, it has a winding staircase down several flights of stairs. We walked it down but took the available elevator up when we returned to the stop because it was so many stairs we had to stop and take breathers on the way down and to laugh at just how many steps there were. Some of the stops are created to reflect the personalities of their area intentionally, others just take it on over time as a natural evolution. I wish I had started taking pictures of them right away, I’ve forgotten many of the different stops already, many of them because we didn’t actually use the stop, just passed through en route to our destination. I must say too that I expected the smell in the metro to be much worse but most of the time it wasn’t even noticeable or all I did notice was the smell of the chosen cleaning product. There were times though when I would wonder if I could hold my breath until the train came it was so bad.

Scooters. Not of the Vespa variety though there are a lot more of those and motorcycles than I had anticipated even thinking there would be a lot. The scooters that surprised me though were of the Razor variety that my kids have. We have seen a lot more of those all around Paris than I ever would have imagined, not that I had spent much time thinking about it. The odd thing is most of the ones we’ve noticed were being ridden by adults. Seriously. I kid you not. Adults, often in suits and business attire are spotted riding through the metro station, the train station and along the side walk on scooters. When they reach their destination they hop off, fold up the scooter and stick it in their bag. These people have my respect, I’ve tried to ride scooters before, it really takes some skill and I’m not very good at it. Of course, apparently I’m not so good at walking either which would explain a lot.

Bikes. Europe has a reputation for great public transportation and charming bicycles. I found both to be true in France. I loved seeing so many people choosing to ride bikes over driving and there were bike lanes/paths everywhere around the city making it just another part of the transportation options available. Unlike the few bike lanes here, the bike lanes there were clean and clear and not used as trash bins for the street or where lawn workers blow all the leaves and other lawn debris. There were bike racks available everywhere as well and we saw quite a few partial bikes that hadn't been locked up well enough to detour thieves. My favorite piece of the biking options was the "rent-a-bike" stations positioned regularly throughout Paris. There would be a row of nice cruisers available for rent, free if you returned it to another station within a half hour and inexpensive otherwise. Part of the public transportation included bikes with baskets! How cool is that? Encourages zero emissions and exercise. Wish that would catch on here. It just made this already charming city more so. Very, very cool. Some day I will be riding through the streets of Paris with the wind in my hair and my baguette in my bike basket, just you wait.

Time to sit.

2009-12-10T16:21:00.000-08:00

Today I have a sick toddler. All the cleaning, schooling, writing, phone calls, work, cookie baking and knitting I had planned on getting done went out the window and was replaced with lots and lots of cuddle time. My primary job today? "Hold me, mommy." I had planned some activities for today that would hopefully make my to-do list shorter for the time being. That was not to be though. Cooling a feverish brow, wiping a runny nose, wrapping my arms around her little body curled around my belly was about all I was able to get done today. There is a pot of a hearty yet simple vegetable soup on the stove for dinner that I managed to get made with the help of Jeremy and the big girls in those brief moments E let me set her down and we'll be enjoying the warmth of that soup (loaded with garlic) in just a few moments with some crusty bread and a bit of brie. Initially I was annoyed at how my day was going but then I realized that I needed to savor it. E wanted to spend hours just being held and cuddled on my lap, there was nothing more important that I could be doing in that moment but to meet her needs. Even though in reality I'm currently a stay-at-home-mom, I don't think of myself that way. It simply boils down to me not being the best version of myself if I don't pursue a career outside of my children. More on that later (as in another post some day, somewhere down the road) but today wasn't about being a stay-at-home-mom or a work-out-of-the-home-mom. It was about what my daughter needed and even if I was working full-time out of the home still what she needed was mommy or daddy to have an available lap for her to curl up in and get her clementine, goji beeries and walnuts when she needed a snack. Deadlines, agendas, and clients can't hold a candle to her needs in that moment. So that is what I did today just as I have done in the past when I worked 40+ hours a week out of the house. It was warm and sweet and special and just what we all needed. I drank 3 cups of tea this morning, when else would I get to do that? We watched a Muppet Christmas movie (not A Christmas Carol) in the middle of the day and E and I were entertained by the big girls putting on dance shows to Christmas music blasting through the house. The big girls wrote their letters to Santa and made clay Christmas ornaments for our as of yet undecorated Christmas tree. We picked out our ridiculous list of cookies to be baked for the holidays and curled up with books (and some coffee and chocolate for me) for a nice quiet time. No, this wasn't the day I planned but it was the day that needed to be.

The only thing that is sad with this picture is that it took a little girl having a fever, cough and runny nose for me to take the time to do this. I need to plan these kind of days a little more often. Now, off to knit and watch White Christmas after eating our soup.

Pumpkin Soup

2009-12-09T10:42:00.000-08:00

This blog isn't actually supposed to be all about France and eventually, well until we live there anyway, I will run out of things to write specifically about France. That and I promise there are other aspects of our lives. Like food. Last week I mentioned two different meals we had on Facebook and got asked for the recipes. I thought I'd go ahead and share them here.

In honor of the cooler weather gracing Houston and the holiday spirit, Jeremy and I made pumpkin soup. (By the way, I had amazing pumpkin soup in France when we went out to celebrate our friend Steve's birthday, it was ah-mazing with chunks of roasted chestnuts in it and other magical properties I couldn't imagine.) For well over a year now I've been in love with the recipes from this blog. We have made a wide variety of her recipes and have been inspired to create some of our own as well with mostly great success. Hint- it is really hard to screw up crock-pot cooking, not impossible but really hard. Anyway, we took inspiration from Stephanie's Jamiacan Pumpkin Soup for our festive meal. I didn't use fresh pumpkin, just plain pumpkin from a can and I tripled the amount of pumpkin called for (I wanted it to be really pumpkiny), added about 2 cups of water and two potatoes. I can't ever follow a recipe exactly, particularly if I've made it before. Oh yeah, I went ahead and added cinnamon too but I couldn't tell you how much, I just shook some in. Everything went into the crock-pot (I used my big 6 quart) and cooked on low all day, 7 hours give or take. I ran into a hitch when I couldn't find the bottom of my blender when it came time to puree it so I improvised and used the hand mixer. This was woefully inadequate and led to me wishing (loudly) that Santa would bring me a submersible hand blender. I said this a lot, hopefully he got the memo. So our smooth, creamy pumpkin soup was more like chunky pumpkin stew but that didn't stop us. For the girls I drizzled some honey and a touch of cream on top of their soup and then, because I knew the chunks would not be appreciated, I added a squirt of whipped cream on top of that garnished with chopped walnuts. They claimed they loved it. Personally, I skipped the cream and just had a touch of honey and nuts on top of mine. I loved it. The chunks weren't too bad though I think I would have liked it better smooth but it was warming, filling and very tasty. I like the combination of sweet and savory in this soup, it works very well and of course you can skip the sweet if you don't like the idea by just not adding honey on top. If I were serving this for a dinner party, I would have bought a large pumpkin, scooped out the inside and served the soup in that. I would have also run out and invested in a submersible hand blender.

Some pics of the people...

2009-12-07T09:03:00.001-08:00

Dinner with friends: Philip, Cynthia, Sylvian, and Delphine.

Jeremy and the bouquiniste that sold us some neat French philosophy books for our friend Steve.

Jeremy's friend from high school, Sylvian. We had a great dinner with him in a Bistro in the 9th.

A fun couple of piano movers that were more than happy to have their picture taken.
A gentleman down by the Seine River that kept commenting about us being cute young lovers. He was a lot of fun and I loved his hat!

The French

2009-12-07T07:41:00.000-08:00

I know I only posted two pictures this weekend and if you're friends with me on FaceBook you've already seen them. Sorry about that. The task of sorting through all the images we have is a bit daunting. I'll keep working on it.

While we were in France I made note of some of the observations I couldn't help but making while we were there. These were either items that surprised me or just caught my attention. Some of them cultural, others just plain ordinary. Today, observations on the people.

Polite vs. Rude. People are far more polite than I anticipated. I’d heard so much that the French are rude, that Parisians in particular are rather impatient and stuck up. Maybe it is because I’m traveling with a native speaker, maybe France got tired of it’s reputation, I don’t know, but so far we have encountered only very polite people. Well, for the most part. We have had two rude waiters but hey, I’ve had rude servers in the States plenty of times as well so I’m not crushed. If people notice that I am pregnant they not only offer up their seat on the metro, they insist I take it. Arguing is futile, I’m pregnant, I must sit, the end. Which works out well as I’m only too willing to park my rear if even for just a short metro trip. And to make up for the two rude servers we had, we had two perfectly wonderful servers and many other very kind servers show us French hospitality including the woman today at a charming place in Montmartre that heard us observing that the pastries were cheaper if we got them to go than if we ate them there. She not only gave us the discounted price for to-go orders but additionally gave us one for free. Not that I’m eating pastries, obviously, but she did get a huge tip.

Celebrity status. Very small children, babies and pregnant women receive something like celebrity status attention out in public. They are stared at, let to the front of the line, offered extras and on the metro always given a seat. Young and old alike will hop up to offer a mother with a small child or a pregnant woman their seat on the train. Being a pregnant woman I found it both wonderfully charming and a little embarrassing. I couldn’t refuse their charity, they’d insist more and I felt like I was making an ungrateful scene. So I’d smile and accept the seat and try not to notice the people smiling and starring at me. This is so unlike the treatment I’ve experienced in the states, not that people in the states are mean to pregnant women, small children and babies in public but they don’t give up their seats for them, that’s for sure.

Short people. Perhaps I should say “vertically challenged?” Or “height challenged?” Anyway, there are a lot of people on the short side in France, particularly of the older generations. I actually think that though I was not exactly on the tall side but certainly on the taller side of average and Jeremy was just plain freaky tall. There seemed to be more younger people that were more of what I’m accustomed to in terms of height but even still, Jeremy stood a good head taller than most. So we had the pregnant chic hanging with the giant guy with crazy hair and crazy beard-thingy. I think we kind of stuck out.

Children. At first it seemed like the kids must have been in hiding because we saw very, very few though we did see some babies. Eventually though, the weekend hit and we were in a less touristy or trendy area and suddenly we saw lots of kids of all ages and families of all sizes. It seemed everyone was looking out for the kids, not just the parents. The kids were obviously an important part of the community and valued highly. They were also given more freedom and responsibility than I’m used to seeing these days in the states. Children as young as 8 or 9 were allowed to play unsupervised in parks, walk the streets to the market or bakery to pick-up fresh bread, and walk to and from school. I sat at an outside table of a little cafe down the street from an open air market while Jeremy went in search of something on a Sunday morning watching children carrying sacks of produce and bread on their own and marveled. This was Paris and children walked the streets with confidence and safety. Nobody seemed surprised by this but me. Let me tell you, this has caused me some serious consideration regarding my parenting but more on that later. The children in Paris were confident, aware of their place of value in society, polite and still children. Though I’ve heard a lot of about the parenting crisis in France (more on that later too) I was thrilled to see children such a valued part of society and not just for their worth as a consumer. The family in France is in crisis but children are still cherished deeply.